


The Apprentice

by fzzhman



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Adventure, Book 2: Earth, Book 3: Fire, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Secrets, Fire-Healing, Friendship/Love, I promise this OFC is cool, Multi, Slow Burn, Suspense, The slowest burn you will ever feel, world-building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 63,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24857035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fzzhman/pseuds/fzzhman
Summary: The Lower Ring is overcrowded, underfunded, suffocating. Zohra has given up on trying to find meaning after her father's untimely death, and her forced refugee status in the worst city in the world; that is, until she notices a mysterious Blue-faced freak running across rooftops in the middle of the night, wielding Dao swords that match her own.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Original Female Character(s) & The Gaang (Avatar), Piandao & Original Female Character(s), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 102
Kudos: 146
Collections: Avatar: The Last Airbender





	1. In the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting a story on here! All reviews are appreciated, please let me know if you see any grammatical or continuity errors, this one's (hopefully) going to be long and updated semi-regularly.

A menacing blue face snarled at her from the ground, its body ungracefully limp. 

Zohra prodded the wooden mask with the flat edge of her broadsword, frowning. This was _not_ how she'd expected the night to go.

It had been nearly a week since she'd noticed the black clad figure, not quite fully obscured in the shadows of the dark alleys of the Lower Ring. At first, she was just impressed someone around here had managed to outsmart the Dai Li’s ridiculous curfew; she'd seen the sword-swinging spirit on accident, after a particularly disastrous night of drinking the stolen rice-wine from Liah's employers (Middle Ring up-and-comers who couldn't survive a day without her roommate cleaning up after them). Liah made decent money, far more than she did; Zohra had argued several times that they didn't really need to steal anything from the new money snobs Liah worked for, that she could just as easily walk into a store and buy whatever she wanted. Liah disagreed; her employers _deserved_ to have their cheap alcohol stolen, because who on earth would drink anything this vile if they could afford not to. Zohra had laughed at that, thrown her hands up in defeat; Liah looked the part of coquettish Earth Kingdom child maid, but that's where the similarities stopped.

Since that night, something had stirred inside her. The spirit, or whatever it was, seemed familiar in a way that unsettled her, like she'd seen it before, the memory just out of her reach. She'd stayed up every night then, forsaking precious hours of sleep before a horrifically early rookie shift, running inventory at the street's communal granary, to get a glimpse of the blue face that seemed to float over the rooftops, running in larger and larger circles and eventually dropping out of sight behind a raised pillar. She fantasized about running in the same way- Ba Sing Se was suffocating, its crowded streets weighed on her so heavily in her first few days as a lone refugee that she almost went mad. She'd had nothing to her name until she'd conned her way into a job at the granary, except the clothes on her back, and the swords her father had made her the year he died. It was hard work forgetting him, but she'd managed to do it well enough, until his face had become as blurry as that of her mother's, whose death Zohra didn’t even really remember. She felt some guilt at this intentional amnesia- maybe it was cowardly, to not cope with Dad's loss because she couldn't bear the pain. As far as she could remember, it had been just the two of them, travelling the Earth Kingdom for years until his declining health forced him to settle down and start work at a forge in the Taihua district, the closest thing she had to a home. They'd spent two perfect years there until Dad died of whatever infection had settled in his lungs (Zohra hadn't bothered reading up on the diagnosis- she knew when a battle was lost). Once Fire Nation soldiers captured the town to construct an easier trading route to Gaoling, Zohra had little choice but to leave with the rest of the refugees who had been deemed useless to their new rulers’ needs.

Back to the matter at hand- Zohra realized she had no idea what to do now that she'd gotten a hold of it. _Not an it_ , she reminded herself, as she felt the heat radiate off this certainly human form; _it's a person_. Should she just leave him here after she had taken him out for no reason beyond boredom, beyond wanting to prove that she _could_? She hadn't practiced with her swords in months, ever since she'd gotten to Ba Sing Se. Though this recent victory was an indicator that she wasn't totally useless yet, she knew she was getting rusty; she had to figure out a way to get back to training, but how? There were no such schools or gyms in the Lower Ring; the Earth King had probably figured that it wasn't a good idea to give a bunch of angry, poor people easy access to dangerous weapons. She'd slashed around a few times in the granary during her shifts, which had ample floor space- and no one except other clerks like her would even go in there until they needed to during the winter. But, slashing around wasn't real training, just exercise- she needed a half-decent partner to practice with.

She sighed, and decided the only thing she could do at the moment was to drag him somewhere the Dai Li wouldn't find him. She owed him that; she had ambushed him without reason, from the roof of the seedy tea shop opposite her apartment, and felt the exhilaration of landing softly behind him, still undetected, and quickly stunning him with a quick jab from her sword's handle to the side of his neck (an easy bastardization of a chi-blocking technique her father had taught her that would knock out an opponent for at least ten minutes). But, she knew she was lying to herself; she _did_ know why she'd done it. She'd seen his swords, larger than her own but so _familiar_ , like the ones her father had made in their ill-fated forge in Taihua. Who would be in Ba Sing Se with swords like these? Non-benders of the Earth Kingdom preferred anvils or their own fists; swords were always a rarity.

She cursed under her breath as she dragged the man, still with his mask on, behind the crumbling granary where she was always the first worker in; no one would approach the building for at least another six hours, and he'd be long gone by then. Once she was sure she was out of sight, she took his swords out again, examining them for the maker's signature.

She almost dropped them in surprise when she saw what she had been suspecting: _made in Taihua_. She knew she shouldn't be as excited as she felt; he had probably lived in or travelled through Taihua, had probably bought them off one of Dad's regulars, maybe from the forge itself- there wasn't much of a mystery involved, now that she thought about it. She contemplated taking them, but paused- that wouldn't make her feel much better, or be of much help. The blades were clearly made for someone much larger than her, they felt awkwardly heavy in her hands, and there would be no way of explaining a _second_ pair of swords to Liah. Frowning, she sheathed them again.

And then, on an impulse she didn't know she had, she lifted the mask off the man's face, careful to not touch the exposed skin of his neck, and almost jumped back in surprise- he had the most awful, horrible scar she had ever seen. Even in the dark, she knew it was the work of some ruthless firebender, and winced. Once she got over the scar, which angrily covered his left eye all the way back to his ear, she noticed the rest of his face; gaunt, pale, but young- a teenager, sixteen at the most. She felt a rush of concern for him, and had to force herself out of it; she was done playing neighborhood vigilante. He'd wake up soon, and realize someone had knocked him out and deposited him, swords and all, behind the granary, and taken nothing. If nothing else, she'd probably confused him into never leaving his house again. Awkwardly, she tried to put his mask back on his face, hoping to leave no trace of herself at the scene-

She let out a soft shriek as a hot hand grabbed her wrist.

* * *

_Why did this happen to me?_

Zuko wasn't one for rhetorical questions- that was Uncle's forte, but this was _not_ what he had expected tonight, not after a week of undisturbed sneaking. He wanted to scream in frustration; who on _earth_ had chi-blocked him, let him fall to the ground, and taken his mask off, and been stupid enough to stay there?

He jumped to his feet, taking in the sight of the girl staring at him in wide-eyed shock, her feet in a defensive stance, straining against his grip on her arm. She was a half a head shorter than him, in a dark tunic and armed- _wait, what? She has_ swords. Zuko felt the weight of his own pair safely tucked in their sheath- she was holding her _own_ pain. He was also acutely aware that he had to make as little noise as possible now; the Dai Li agent that he had seen patrolling the streets this past week couldn't be too far away, and this girl had already made enough noise to startle the rat-badgers, one more false step and there could be something much more vile to deal with. Without thinking, he lunged forward, pinning her to the wall behind her, his hands clamped over her mouth.

She squirmed uneasily under him, but didn't make a sound, her eyes fixed on his. Once she stopped moving, Zuko tried adjusting his own stance- he was uncomfortably aware of how narrow this space was, how un-skillfully he had tried to restrain her-

And in that moment of hesitation, she brought her knee to his chest, throwing him flat on his back, and crossed her swords at his neck.

 _I hate this city._

She bent down, peering at him, looking pleased. He tried to push her off, but he knew it was futile- she knew what she was doing, and had immobilized him completely, her knee still exerting a menacing pressure on his chest. "Nice mask," she said, her expression slowly turning serious. "Look, I don't want trouble."

"Then get off me," he snarled back, clenching his fists, lamenting the lack of his own weapons; had she sheathed them beforehand, so he wouldn't even notice they were out of his hands? This was humiliating, and dangerous; had he accidentally firebent when she had chi-blocked him? That happened, sometimes; he'd been on the receiving end of Ty Lee's jabs too many times to count, and knew that once you lost control, your body could get desperate enough to spit out sparks in a last-ditch effort. He didn't want to think what would happen if she had actually seen that; against his will, he was confronted with the panicky memory of Jet at the docks of Ba Sing Se, his eyes bulging out as he tried to make sense of what he thought he had seen Uncle do…

"Where did you get your swords?"

Well, that wasn't the question he expected. He didn't even remember the name of the stupid town he'd stolen them in- only the face of the man who had taunted Uncle, forced him to embarrass himself for a few coins. He scowled at her, keeping his mouth shut.

She didn't flinch at his silence. "I know the Dai Li agent who patrols this street; his name is Fei, and he owes me a favor, and he will have no problem locking you up if I ask him to. Answer the question, and I'll let you go." 

Zuko gritted his teeth, using all his willpower to not breathe fire directly in her face. 

She sighed, strands of hair clumsily falling out of a metal comb, the kind most women in the Lower Ring wore. "Listen, buddy, I can keep this up all night. Just tell me where you got the swords, and I'll let you go, promise."

"I bought them in the Earth Kingdom," he bit out, begging his heart rate to stay down. _Why didn't I just say they were a family heirloom?_

"You're not a very good liar." 

"Get off me, and maybe I'll remember the truth." 

Her lip curled; Zuko still hadn't gotten a good look at her because of the heavy shadow of the buildings, but he could see her eyes glistening- a curiously pale amber. He hadn’t met any Earth Kingdom citizens with eyes like that-

"So you stole them,” she said, cutting off his train of thought. “Any idea where it was? Which town?"

This was getting stranger and stranger. He'd assumed she was trying to be a hero, trying to get him thrown in prison for a couple of copper coins and some credit from her Dai Li friend, if he even existed. "I don't know. Take them, I don't care."

She sighed, her swords still poised, ready to chop his head off. "Fine, I'll let you go. On one condition-"

"No," Zuko said flatly, hoping his tone, stoic as he could make it, would deter her.

She ignored him, plowing on. "You're going to go back to wherever you crawled out of _quietly_ and with your head intact, and you will meet me here again tomorrow, same time."

He stared back, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. _What?_

"In case I didn't make myself clear- I'm threatening you. This is a threat. You will come back here tomorrow, after midnight, and bring those swords. If I don't see you, I'll find you and get you arrested for…trespassing." She paused, drawing in a breath. "Not many people have a scar like that- you won’t be easy to forget."

Zuko put everything he had into stopping his head from blowing off. He was trapped; he couldn't risk attacking her now. _especially_ not with firebending, not when there was a chance she actually knew a Dai Li agent. Ba Sing Se was the only place safe from the Fire Nation and from Azula, and he couldn't get too far in this wretched city, not with Uncle along, at least, and enough people _had_ seen his face, and, by Agni, he was _trapped._

He unclenched his fists; his fingernails had carved little wounds in his palms, now damp with blood, and answered with as much contempt as he could muster up, "Fine."

Her teeth flashed in an unnervingly perky grin. "Don't you want to know why?"

"No." _Please, let this be some nightmare brought on by last night's awful, peasant meal._

She sighed, suddenly springing up, her swords still drawn and ready before Zuko could even get off the ground. His head was spinning; he hadn't realized how much she'd restricted his airflow. 

"I need someone to practice with. I've never seen anyone around here with swords, and I can tell that you know what you're doing. I won’t hurt you, I just need a partner. Sound okay?"

He tucked the Blue Spirit mask back into his waistband, and didn't bother dignifying that with a response. He sprinted off, taking as many useless turns as he could to lose her track in case she decided to follow him, his heart racing from the encounter. Only after he had crept into their apartment, careful not to disturb a snoring Uncle, did his heartbeat slow down enough for his thoughts to even become coherent.

 _She ambushed him because she wanted a s_ parring partner?

* * *

_What just happened?_

Zohra walked back to her flat in a daze, careful to stick to the shadows. She went over the events of the past ten minutes with her ears buzzing; she'd _threatened him_? Where had that come from? She didn't even know his _name_ , she knew nothing about him other than the fact that he had two swords that matched her own.

She hadn't lied about knowing Fei- he was new on the beat, a prodigy earthbender, the youngest Dai Li recruit in years, and she knew all this information about him because had been trying to woo Liah, who evaded him at every turn on principle ( _bind my hands and throw me into the gutter if you ever catch me with a damn cop_ , _Zohra)_. For a newbie Dai Li, he surprisingly lacked the guts to just ask a girl out himself. She'd been using his puppy love to her own advantage, promising Fei she'd talk Liah into a date in exchange for an I-owe-you.

And it had _worked_. Well, technically it had; she knew she probably wouldn't follow up on the threat if he didn't show up tomorrow, but it was worth a shot to get a sparring partner- is that the reason some unknown force had possessed her to even ambush a stranger in the first place?

She entered her ground-floor one-room as softly as possible, taking care to not step on any of the creaky floorboards, hung her swords on the crooked nails on the wall next to her cot and fell back on the rough sheets, exhausted.

Her mind couldn't shut down even as her body throbbed with the fatigue of a fight after months of no training. Well, not much of a fight; the boy wasn't as strong as she'd assumed him to be and it hadn't taken much to pin him. He was starved, she could tell by the way his ribs prodded against her knee; was he a refugee, too? How did he escape the war, if he was young and knew how to fight? All the refugees she'd seen so far were destitute, starved, disabled in some sense or the other- no one but the truly desperate came to Ba Sing Se, not even draft-dodgers.

She closed her eyes, begging for sleep. It refused to come; she decided to sit by the window, hoping to catch a breeze on the uncharacteristically warm spring night, trying to forget the look of sheer anger in the boy's yellow eyes. _Calm down,_ she told herself. _He'll come, or he won't- he can't hurt you, you have the upper hand. And if he does come, imagine how great it will be to really_ fight _again_. 

She tried the gratitude technique that Liah had taught her, which she used quite often when she couldn't sleep: _think of where you are right this minute, and remind yourself that it beats sleeping in a cramped refugee ship with nothing in your stomach but overcooked, unseasoned jook_. Zohra had replaced the horror of the refugee ship part of the technique with the dread of her first night in Ba Sing Se, sleeping in the yard of an old woman who had taken pity on her, promising herself and her father and the Sun and all the stars that she would get a job and work to her bones if it meant never being homeless again. But, even after sweet-talking the manager of the granary into giving a low-life refugee a job, she realized it would be weeks before she could save up enough to pay the mandatory first-and-last-month of rent anywhere in her vicinity.

Until she met Liah; tiny, beautiful Liah, who was raised in an orphanage in the Lower Ring until she had been pushed out by the flood of tinier, more pathetic orphans whose parents couldn’t survive the city, and forced to look for work. Not that she had any trouble finding it; teenage servant girls were the biggest status symbol for Ba Sing Se's merchant classes, and Liah had a remarkably likeable energy, despite her sticky fingers in the workplace. She had been on the lookout for someone to share her single-room apartment with, which was quickly becoming too expensive for her alone, with someone who looked too earnest to rob her. She had told Zohra this jokingly on the anniversary of their first month together, that she looked like she would fight the scariest Earth Rumble Champion tooth and nail for a single scrap, but was terrified of stealing from the most timid of rabbiroos. Zohra had rolled her eyes then, not bothering to stifle a smile; she was grateful beyond words for Liah, to have a friend like her in the loneliest city in the world was an honor she knew she didn't live up to.

She finally drifted off in a restless sleep, head resting on the windowsill.

In what felt like a minute, the sun was up, and her body sprang up against her will at its warmth.

Liah was still in bed, firmly immune to the barely-there glimmer of sunlight streaming in through the window. Zohra rubbed the exhaustion out of her eyes, and made her way to the washbasin, wincing at the thought of a six-hour-shift after basically no sleep, with her body sorer than it had been in a long time. She wiped her face with the wet washcloth, stifling a laugh at the sight of her hair in the mirror- it looked like a boarcupine ready to attack. She smoothed it down with a damp hand and piled it back up on her head, carelessly combing through with her fingers. She rummaged in the larder for something to eat- other than the stolen rice-wine, they were down to their last loaf of rough bread, and there were barely any tea leaves either. She sighed, deciding she needed the tea more than Liah would, and brewed herself a pot, softly cracking her sore neck.

"Someone's up early." 

Zohra answered without turning around: "It's called going to work, Liah."

"Hey, I'm not complaining. Looks like you already made breakfast."

"Well, if you consider half a cup of tea and stale bread breakfast. We need to go shopping."

"No way, I'll grab us something from the Chu's. They're having another wretched party for their Upper-Ring friends today, there's bound to be some leftovers they won't notice are missing."

Zohra turned around, smiling. "You know I hate roasted turtle-duck. Get me something less game-y, please."

Liah laughed, extracting herself from a thin summer blanket, and stretched her arms above her. "I'm going to get dressed. I’ll eat at the tea shop, the Chu’s don’t need me early today."

"What, my tea isn't good enough for you?" Zohra noticed Liah peer at the dark circles beneath her eyes, but knew she wouldn't ask her about it; Liah maintained that in a one-room, it was better to not ask questions you don't need to know the answers to.

She snorted, and shook her head. "You look like you need it more than I do. No, they have a new server, and Jin from next door said he's _cute_." Lin accentuated her words with a toss of long brown hair over her shoulder, and a fluttering of her eyelashes.

"Jin thinks anyone's cute," Zohra grumbled. She knew she was being unfair; last night's events were still occupying most of her brain and clouding her filter. 

"Don't be cynical, it's not good for your complexion. Do you want to come?"

"No, no thanks, I'm already late for my shift." Zohra dusted the crumbs off her tunic, and arched her back as she got up, the exhaustion of last night still lingering in her bones. She smiled to herself as she thought of what Liah would say if she found out about it; probably something along the lines of _there are more tasteful ways of asking someone out on a date than ambushing them in the middle of the night, Zohra_. 

Poor guy; he was either going to show up tomorrow night and get thrashed, or not show up and live the rest of his life in fear of a crazy girl knocking on his door, her Dai Li friend ready to arrest him.

Liah walked over to the wash basin and goes through the same motions Zohra did, but was less clumsy with her hair, which she wore up in a sleek bun at the nape of her neck, a couple of strands artfully left loose to fall down the sides of her face. She picks out work clothes from the chest of drawers next to her bed; cropped brown trousers and leaf-green tunic with a brown vest, the uniform for Ba Sing Se's servant class. She's changed before Zohra even has a chance to comment on whether she was serious about going to the tea-shop.

Zohra wished she could tell Liah about that part of herself- the part about her being a few steps shy of a sword-master. She had trained with her father for as long as she could remember; in addition to his travelling blacksmith business, her father made the best swords in the entire Earth Kingdom, and was just as skilled at wielding them. Liah would have understood, even encouraged her- she wouldn't report her as a dangerous renegade to the Dai Li, the same way she hadn't gotten her thrown out by their creepy landlord for holding illegal weapons in the first place. Liah had already seen her Dao, but Zohra had told her they were a keepsake from her dead father and her friend was tactful enough to not ask about them again. But, Zohra knew that it would be foolish to tell her, no matter how much she trusted Liah; they'd known each other for only two months.

"I'm leaving now!" Liah said, already half out the door. "I'll be at the tea-shop if you need me in the next hour."

Zohra waved at her without looking up. Once she heard the door close behind Liah, she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She spent another couple of minutes soaking in the sun’s warmth, waiting for the gong that would signal the start of the working day. She crossed her legs and stretched her spine straight, holding her arms directly in front of her, palms facing inward, suddenly feeling energized, her fingers quivering-

-until it finally happened, what she'd been waiting for: a small flame danced across her fingertips, pulsing in time with her heart. She extinguished it as quickly as it had come; there was no need for Liah, or anyone, ever, to find out about _this._


	2. Doing Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of a filler, but the next one will hopefully be longer. Please review, and let me know if there's any grammar/continuity errors, I do most of my writing when I should be asleep.

“You seem pensive today, nephew.”

Zuko did his best not to snap at Uncle. The more withdrawn he was, the fewer questions he would be subjected to, on _why_ he seemed pensive, followed by a vaguely related proverb that Zuko could not even pretend to understand. Their shift had started even though the gong signaling the start of the working day still hadn’t rung; laborers need breakfast, so the forced silence didn’t last long. Uncle took a last look at Zuko, his face unreadable, before he shuffled away to greet the first people in.

Uncle was a natural at making people feel at home- Zuko realized that they had only been in Ba Sing Se for a little over a week, worked at the tea shop for less than that, and Uncle already knew the names and favorite orders of the regulars. Uncle speaks to them like old friends, and he looked even happier working in the tiny, dimly lit kitchen. Zuko didn’t bother to hide his disdain for this commoner’s job- they were still royalty, it was _humiliating,_ cleaning up after Lower Ring scum, entertaining their whims on why the tea was too hot, the tables too small, or hearing whispers like _since when did this place start hiring Fire-Nation-burn victims._

Usually, Zuko spent every day silently begging for the hours to pass until sundown, when the crowds started spilling out, then until the start of curfew, when the neighborhood drunks were finally kicked out by the landlord, and he could finally go back to feeling somewhat like himself.

Uncle never objected when Zuko took a break, or even a whole shift off- he was sure he could get away with taking more of them, but he hated the idea of letting Uncle bear the burden of the life he was forced to live because of Zuko; he’s the one who was banished in the first place, and if it weren’t for him, none of this would be happening at all.

Today, however, he pleaded for the hours to pass as slowly as possible, as he took orders without arguing over ridiculous demands ( _can I pay half the bill today, I barely touched my cup, and your uncle can probably reuse it_ being one of the more inventive ones this early in the day). Zuko had tried to convince Uncle to let him work the kitchen, in case the wrong person recognized him- Uncle had responded by saying they hadn’t been working long enough to not be fired as soon as the patrons tasted his tea. He was paranoid and jumpy, bowing his head to hide his face whenever new customers walked in until he was sure he wouldn’t be met with the pair of amber eyes from last night, narrowed in contempt.

Momentarily, as he had awoken at dawn from an incredibly restless sleep, Zuko had managed to convince himself that last night could have been a vivid dream, with the number of successive unlikely events that had conspired; he hadn’t ever been taken down by surprise while he was the Blue Spirit, and the girls’ eyes had sort of resembled Azula’s, which was uncanny enough to enter nightmare territory on its own. But, as always, his luck hadn’t held out- he was confronted with how real the ordeal had been when he saw the half healed fingernail cuts on his palms and again, when caught a glimpse of his bare chest while changing into work clothes; there was a comical knee-shaped bruise right in the center, dully aching.

She was dangerous, she had to be- but she wasn’t working for Azula, because Azula would never let anyone else have the satisfaction of taking him and Uncle down, and also because if the girl really was an assassin or a kidnapper, she could have just done the deed yesterday and collected an easy bounty an hour later. No, she couldn’t be connected to Azula at all; the only other explanation for last night was that she’d actually been telling the truth, and just wanted a sparring partner. His brief encounter felt stranger and stranger the more he thought about it; he couldn’t place the details of her face, but he remembered in vivid, humiliating detail how quick footed and strategic she was, despite her small frame. He was sure if he had seen her in the light he would have been taken aback by how tiny she was- but she’d managed to take him down so _easily,_ used her Dao like they were natural extensions of her limbs that she _had_ to be trained, by a teacher at least half as good as Master Piandao.

Against his will, Zuko’s thoughts drifted to the hazy, bittersweet memories of training with Master Piandao- the first time he had felt really _good_ at something. Azula had taunted him; first, for not being any good, but even more so when his skill became undeniable (real _firebenders don’t touch steel, but that would explain a lot, wouldn’t it Zuzu?)._ But he clung to his lessons anyway- he already knew he was good, he could _see_ how easy it was for him to spar with, overtake and then outright defeat much older and more experienced students. He frowns when he remembers the reason he stopped going to lessons, a few weeks before he was to receive his Master title; the Firelord had voiced his disdain for Zuko’s new hobby, echoing Azula’s words. Zuko justified his sudden withdrawal from his lessons to Master Piandao by saying that he didn’t need the ceremony anyway, that it was beneath a Crown Prince to receive accolades alongside commoners.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, and forced himself to return to present. Uncle presented him with a tray to take to a large table of factory workers, and Zuko handed them their orders as best as he could with his gaze fixed on the cracked wooden floorboards.

As much as he tried to convince himself that the girl’s threat had been empty, he could not help thinking of the implications if it wasn’t; firstly, he’d have to tell Uncle about what he had been doing, and that would be its own problem, accompanied be several days of stomach-twisting guilt on his end, and infuriating metaphors on how _destiny is a funny thing, Prince Zuko_. Secondly, he would have to get a head-start and leave right now, because she couldn’t possibly set her Dai Li friend on him until the night was over and he hadn’t shown up. He was also painfully aware that he had no idea how to do that; even if he told Uncle everything, there was no way they would find another job that let them blend seamlessly into their surroundings, and soon they’d be on the streets, more susceptible to being caught by authorities who would soon recognize them as either Earth Kingdom enemies or as Fire Nation traitors.

And if he showed up where she had asked him to- wouldn’t that be just as bad? She had already seen his face, and she probably lived close by-most Lower Ring residents hardly ever stepped out beyond the confines of the block they lived and worked on- which meant that she could even walk into the tea shop right now, take one look at his face and start screaming for reinforcements.

“Hey, server boy! Take the pretty girl’s order, she’s been waiting for ages!”

Eyes fixed squarely on his shoes, Zuko shuffled over in the general direction of the gruff voice _._ He furtively ran a hand through his hair, trying to bring the short strands over his face in a futile attempt to distract from his scar. Uncle was right about one thing- he _did_ get used to living like this. Only, Uncle had called _this_ a simple life, but Zuko knew he left out the rest of that description; a simple life of having to act like a servant to the entire Lower Ring.

He stood at the lone girl’s table with his head bowed, staring at his notepad. She wore a green tunic with a brown vest; he assumed it was a uniform of some kind, because most of the women in the shop are wearing variations of the same thing. She looked at him curiously for a few seconds, which made him feel practically _naked_ \- anyone could walk in and attack him while he waited to take this girl’s _stupid_ order-

“Hi! Are you the new server?”

“Yes.”

“Is wintermelon tea still on the menu?”

“No.”

“Oh, well, can I have the special mix then? And a slice of whatever cake is on the menu, please.” She dipped her head closer to the table, looking up at him from an odd angle until Zuko was forced to meet her gaze. She smiled widely at him as he did and he felt blood rush to his face, despite himself- she _was_ pretty, with soft green eyes and an upturned, regal looking nose.

“Sure.”

“Monosyllabic today, are we?”

“What?”

She laughed, attractring the attention of at least four different tables.

“Sorry, I’m just kidding around. What’s your name?”

Zuko let out the least offensive sigh he could. “Lee.”

She opened her mouth again, and Zuko rushed off to take an imaginary order; small talk was more excruciating than having to deal with customers who spit on him (how he wished that was an exaggeration).

He tried to stay away from her table until she had left; she had spent more time looking directly at him than anyone else had all day, and he wasn’t ready to take any chances. He glanced at the rusty wall clock; not even an hour had passed since his shift had started. He rubbed at his good eye as he handed Uncle the stack of scribbled orders; today was going to be the longest day of his life.

* * *

Zohra spent the first half of her shift looking as busy as possible so Wuei, her manager, would't notice that she hadn’t actually written anything of substance down. Not that she needed to; the granary was especially useless for all involved right after the winter months, when the first harvest of barley flooded the markets and even the poorest residents stopped relying on state handouts. The job is practically a formality more than actual work; Wuei had a sense of humor about it, and usually told Zohra and the other workers that they might as well cash their checks instead of tipping off the bureaucracy about exactly how inefficient their plans for the city were. Despite his cynicism regarding the Lower Ring’s administrative wing, Wuei expected everyone to work hard; to dwaddle was to disrespect his authority.

Zohra pushed around a few sacks of years-old flour, no doubt ridden with maggots, as she tried to imagine the best possible outcome for the night; she would be back here in the same space, finally getting the adrenaline rush that she’d been craving for so long, that she got a brief glimpse of last night. She had to suppress a smile the whole working day; she knew there was a big chance he wouldn’t show up, but she refused to let it ruin her mood. 

“You’ve got a smile on your face today.”

She rolled her eyes; for all his drivel about honest work, Wuei never seemed to do much himself. He languidly walks towards her, green eyes shining, expertly dodging the rat-badger droppings without even glancing down once. She retorts, “I just never realized how fascinating it was to count the same bags of rice everyday, even as no one takes them and no new ones come in. Really makes you think, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled, leaning against the wall. Wuei had inherited his position as manager after his father died, which was something that confused Zohra; why on earth would any responsible civil servant trust an eighteen year old with this job, no matter how insignificant they thought it was? The city poured a lot of money into food banks and communal granaries, a ridiculous amount that did not match up with how little attention was paid to them or their running; the least they could do was hire someone who actually deserved it. “Where’s your friend been lately?”

“Give it a rest Wuei, you know she’s got better romantic options than you.” Zohra had learned on the first day of her job that the best way to get rid of her boss was to pull no punches.

“Wow, someone woke up on the wrong side of their woven mat.”

“Oh come on, I’m not _that_ poor.”

“I’m the one who pays you, so I think I’d know.” Zohra had to suppress a giggle at that one; she usually grumbled about Wuei hanging around her all the time, but even his snide commentary didn’t get on her nerves today. He peers at her, raising his eyebrows.

“What was that? Did you just _giggle-“_

“Please for the love of all the spirits, can’t you see I’m _working.”_

He shook his head mockingly. “I can see for a fact that you’re not, the floor isn’t swept and you haven’t written anything down since you logged in. Your terrible penmanship on my meticulously organized employee register is difficult to forget. Come on, spill, I’m so _bored._ You get a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend, then?”

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”

“I’ll have you know, talking to your manager is a valuable use of time. If I wasn’t right here annoying the life out of you you’d go back to daydreaming about whatever you were, which I’d have to take out of _your_ paycheck.” Wuei finished this proclamation with a flourish of his wavy hair, suspiciously shiny looking for someone who lived in the Lower Ring. Wuei was impressively tall by any standards, and surprisingly spry for someone who spent his days doing paperwork and badgering newcomers about details on the war beyond the walls.

He also always looked like he was waiting for someone to bring him news of his sudden accession into a higher standard of living.

Zohra was in good enough spirits to actually humor him; she figured he could use the positive affirmation that someone would ever willingly talk to him, for once. She sat cross legged on the ground, careful to stay clear of the dried rat-badger droppings that she hadn’t gotten around to cleaning yet. “Fine, I concede. I’ll give you one conversation, and another one is on the table if I can get out of sweeping today.

“Ha! Nice try, if you don’t sweep then the others won’t either, and I’ll have a mutiny on my hands.” He sat down next on an upturned crate next to her, slightly more disgusted with the surroundings.

“You’re running out of time, boss, better get to that conversation quick.”

“You know, you weren’t this _mean_ when I hired you. What happened? Is my managerial style too lax? Do I need to stop being such pals with my employees and their gorgeous friends?”

Zohra didn’t suppress a giggle this time. Wuei looked more pleased than she'd ever seen him. “Look, I can’t be going around and promising a date with Liah to everyone.”

“I already know you have to that new Dai Li square, and _come on,_ he’s not nearly as good looking as I am!”

“He’s far more useful to me, though. You already pay me for work I don’t do.”

“I seriously doubt money is what you extorted Fei for, Zohra.”

“I asked him for a no strings attached I-owe-you. If you can do that for me then I’m willing to extend the same token to you.”

“The token being a date with your friend?”

“Exactly.”

“When did you get this devious? Does Liah know of this little scheme you’re running?” He waggled a finger at her face, which she swatted away easily.

“You don’t need to worry about Liah knowing. Unless, of course, you accept the offer?”

He let out a laugh loud enough to shake the whole building. “Kid, you’re getting ahead of yourself. If I really wanted to date your friend, I’d ask her myself, unlike _some_ unworthy uppity cultural-protection-whatever-agents you might know.”

Zohra raised her eyebrows, waiting for an explanation to his sudden change of heart from borderline creepy to almost-chivalrous.

He doesn’t disappoint. “No, I’m just fooling around, teasing you about Liah. You’re my favorite employee, you know? Everyone else just begs me for an advance and refuses to talk to me. You usually do that too, but today you didn’t, and I truly appreciate it.”

She figured he deserved another laugh. She did want to let him look smug for too long, though. “If I finish sweeping right now and pretend to write something down, can I leave early today? I haven’t been shopping all week, and I need to buy something to cook a real meal with.”

He looked affronted that she would even ask, and tutted loudly, marching back towards the entrance. Just before leaving the granary he turned around and shouted, “Copy down the numbers from yesterday, and I’ll consider it.”

Zohra pumped a fist in the air as he exited, careful to not let him see the extent of her excitement- today was shaping up to be her first truly great day in Ba Sing Se.


	3. Bless us, Moon Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know I said this one would be longer, but I'll probably end up editing it and lengthening it out if I absolutely hate it tomorrow morning- 
> 
> EDIT: Big thank you to Moonshadow2113 for pointing out some character inconsistencies, which I've updated for hopefully the last time. Please Review, it's always helpful to know if I've made mistakes!!

“Remind me again why you’re doing this.”

“It’s tradition to wait for the full moon before cutting your hair. Your split ends are distracting me.” Liah accompanied her explanation with another snip through the lower half of Zohra’s hair, and it cascaded down to the stone floor of their apartment, forming a constellation of shiny black crescents that looked oddly beautiful against their dull backdrop.

After Wuei had let her sign out early, she had decided to spend her first work-free afternoon in Ba Sing Se spending her week’s wages on jasmine rice, fragrant spiced salt, and half-decent vegetables to cook with. She was hopeless at bargaining, which oddly worked to her advantage in the Lower Ring- merchants feared the incognito corruption inspectors so much that they’d assume anyone who accepted their fare at asking price had to be writing a report on when and where to arrest them. Through no effort of her own, she ended up spending much less than she’d expected to, and returned home jubilant at her haul.

Once she had put away the groceries, she spent the hours until Liah got back from work pacing, trying to figure out what she’d say to the boy in the mask- probably something along the lines of _hi, thanks for coming, I’d like to challenge you to a friendly duel, please don’t tell anyone about it or we’ll both be arrested_. She had pushed the nagging possibility of him not turning up to the back of her mind; she’d cross that bridge of disappointment when she’d get to it. In the end, she decided that it was better to not ponder on tonight at all, since the more she thought about it, the harder it became not to set something on fire.

Liah had arrived when Zohra was cleaning her swords with a rag with a manic intensity, trying to calm her nerves; she’d raised an inquisitive brow, but refused to ask anything. After setting a hastily wrapped package of the juiciest looking pig-chicken that Zohra had ever seen in her life on their unfinished wooden table, she sat on the edge of her bed and changed out of her uniform.

Zohra sighed; she’d almost had a perfect day up till now, when Liah had all but wrestled her into sitting in front of the low mirror in their apartment, pointing at the swollen moon like an a crazed fortune teller and extracted a pair of tiny scissors seemingly out of thin air. She’d asked Liah to not cut off too much at the risk of Wuei noticing and proceeding to tease her about it for the next couple of months until it grew out, and Liah had listened to her on that.

…Sort of.

“Liah, for the record, I _hate_ how much authority you seem to think you have over my appearance.”

“Oh pipe down, you look great. It’s going to grow back, you baby, stop pouting.” Liah had already swept the hacked off portions of her hair off the ground and into a handkerchief, which she double-knotted before handing back to Zohra. “Look, you can keep this under your pillow, and the moon spirit will make your hair grow back twice as fast.”

“I’m not sure I believe you on that.” Zohra pinched the bridge of her nose, wincing at her reflection. Truthfully, she looks fine; Liah had done a professional job, but it was so _unnecessary._ Her pin-straight hair now hangs to her shoulders, accompanied by a fringe that stops just above her brows, and Zohra instinctively knew it would be impossible to tie it up in any useful way- she’d have to let it hang loose until it could fit comfortably into a comb.

_This might be a problem when I’m training tonight._

As if reading her thoughts, Liah grabs her shoulders again and quickly pulls most of her hair to the top of her head and fastens it into a ponytail with a length of twine, leaving the shorter strands at the front loose, where they hung over her face without obstructing her vision. Zohra begrudgingly admitted that it looked serviceable.

Liah flicked the center of her forehead with her index finger, looking expectant. “Ahem _. Well?”_

A smile tugged at the edge of Zohra’s lips. “Thank you, O wise one, for invoking the moon spirit to intervene on behalf of my split ends. I will forever be indebted to you.”

Liah smiled brightly, and jumped to her feet. “Come on, let’s eat. My lovely employers sent me home with some cold, under-cooked dumplings. Probably their way of saying, ‘thank you for scrubbing out our chimney’; as if the _stupid_ guests were going to personally inspect that in the middle of spring.”

“What about the pig-chicken?”

“Oh, that’s from me.”

“You _bought_ a whole pig-chicken?”

“Sure, if that helps you sleep tonight,” Liah said sweetly, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Zohra rolled her eyes and cut herself a piece, doing her best not to stuff the whole thing in her mouth at once. Liah’s violent hijacking of her hair _had_ calmed her nerves enough that she could sit through a long and fulfilling dinner, a few games of mahjong (which weren’t very constructive since neither of them knew all the rules or owned all the pieces), and feeding the dumplings to the neighborhood catowls. Liah talked lazily, filling Zohra in on mundane happenings of her day: Lady Chu’s jade earrings had cracked, and the blame had almost fallen on Liah until her husband sheepishly stepped up to take it; public transit security had found another abandoned baby on the tracks, which caused a half-hour delay this morning; the Avatar was in the city-

“Back up,” Zohra said, incredulously. “Did you just say the _Avatar?_ The _airbender?!_ Where did you hear that?”

“All the guests at the Chu’s were talking about it; he got to the city a few days ago and crashed the Earth King’s party, and the news trickled down to us today. He’s in the Upper Ring, of course,” Liah drawled, sleep tugging at the corners of her eyes as she wiped the last dish down and stacked it with the others.

Zohra, for the first time, momentarily forgot about her meeting in the granary. “Liah, the Avatar was missing for a _hundred years._ How are you not more excited about this?”

“I don’t know much about him,” Liah said, looking at Zohra like she was crazy for thinking that the Avatar returning was in any way more significant than her adult employer’s temper tantrum at broken earrings. “Why are _you_ so excited?”

“He could end the war,” Zohra muttered, realizing even as she said it how little she believed in the idea.

Liah, again, seemed to read her mind, and huffed impatiently. “Yeah, well, I’ll be more excited about him when he gets around to doing that.”

She regretted even bringing up the topic with Liah; Ba Sing Se residents knew what was going on outside the walls, no matter how hard the Dai Li worked to keep them in the dark- it wasn’t difficult to figure out where the refugees were coming from, and they brought stories and scars with them- as long as the news stayed within the walls of tea shops and didn't spill beyond the walls that confined the refugees to the poorest, least influential part of the city, the Dai Li usually left them alone. Citizens resented the war, and the Fire Nation too, although not for the reasons Zohra had been raised to: they hated the people like her, who kept straining the already meager resources afforded to the Lower Ring- and they hated the Fire Nation for making them Ba Sing Se’s problem. Liah was more sympathetic than most; she hadn’t hesitated to take her in as a roommate when Zohra professed where she was from, but Zohra she saw the flash of anger and repulsion in her eyes when she saw the more unfortunate refugees begging on the streets, crowding the flea markets, soaking up all the welfare that should have been going to real citizens like her. _You’re not like them,_ Liah would say when she noticed Zohra looking at the disgust apparent on her face; _you’re_ useful. _You make a living by yourself, not expecting anything in return but what you earned. Besides, it’s not like you caused the war- it’s the Fire Nation that’s evil._

Zohra wondered what Liah would think if she’d felt how hot her skin had seared at those words.

She changed the subject as Liah looked to her to fill the silence. “How was the tea shop this morning?”

Zohra could sense Liah’s smile from across the room. “Jin wasn’t lying. The server _was_ cute. Shame about his scar, though.”

Zohra almost didn't make the connection. Her heart skipped a beat; _there’s no way,_ she heard her thoughts echo in her head, almost drowning out the noises of the Lower Ring as it settled down to sleep. She was so lost in thought that she almost forgot to ask Liah, her voice half a pitch higher: “What kind of scar?”

“I tried not to look at it, but it was on his left eye. Looked like a burn, the poor thing; do you think he fought in the war?”

Zohra left Liah hanging, feigning sleep the best she could. Her mind was rushing faster than she thought possible; the same guy who had been running across rooftops for the past week, pretending to be a sword wielding spirit, was a server at the tea shop across the street- the same tea shop whose roof she had climbed to take him down from.

She forced her breathing to slow down before she lit her blankets on fire. _Calm down_. _It’s not a big deal- he probably won’t show up tonight. If he does, you’ll have a funny anecdote to share while you duel._

A few minutes before midnight, after she was sure Liah was snoring, Zohra changed into a new outfit that she had picked up earlier that day; black trousers and close-fitting, matching tunic, and strapped her swords to her back for safer concealment. She figured she might as well commit to the whole _I’m illegally breaking and entering into my workplace to train at Dao with a crazy mask-wearing teenager whose name I don’t even know. Who also happens to work in a damn tea shop. Who my roommate thinks is_ cute.

* * *

Not for the first time in his life, Zuko made what he knew to be the wrong decision.

The day had been longer than any he could remember; even the weeks of floating on a precarious raft in the Northern oceans, eating charred, salty fish had felt less grueling- the sky was endless, and Zuko truly believed they would be safe on the other end of it. He’d still be banished, the Avatar would still be a looming threat to the future of the Fire Nation, and his own Dao swords- handcrafted painstakingly four years ago- would still be at the bottom of the sea, but he knew he would be fine, and free, and with his dignity intact, to whatever extent a disgraced crown prince’s could be.

He’d been wrong about that too.

He had cleaned up the tea shop, reheated leftovers from last night for him and Uncle (sans firebending- he was wary of how many eyes the city seemed to have), and eaten them without complaint. Uncle had been unusually quiet since the shop had closed down; Zuko had curtly asked him if anything was wrong, and he had shaken his head without looking at him- Zuko had been too lost in thought about unlikely escape plans for the two of them in case things went wrong tonight to find that strange. He had followed the same routine on this (much worse) night that he had for the past week- wait for Uncle to fall asleep, pull on a dark outfit, reach under his bed for the stolen Dao, and slip out through the window until he had reached somewhere he felt marginally freer, if not happier.

He already knew he wouldn't be feeling either tonight. 

He spent several minutes trying to come to terms with his surroundings. _I’m at the corner of that stupid granary on this street, still pretending to be the Blue Spirit- as if that’s going to make a difference._ He’d seen the Dai Li agent tonight, as he stalked the streets lazily, no doubt confident in his ability to take anyone down who needed it. Zuko had tried to get a good look at his face, in case he needed to remember which one to run from (he’d held up his end of the deal, but he knew he was susceptible to more blackmail if the girl so decided it)- he had dark eyes and an almost comically square jaw; the light of the full moon had illuminated his features clearly enough that Zuko was, for the first time in the last twenty four hours, able to catch a break and have one small endeavor actually turn out in his favor _._ The Dai Li patroller didn’t seem to be very good at his job, though- Zuko had been able to disappear from under plain sight, instinctively relying on the shadows and timing his steps with the scurrying of rat-badgers to avoid detection.

Once he had positioned himself in a place that would be a blind spot for someone approaching the granary from its front entrance, he waited, and wondered if this is what the rest of his life will feel like; crouching in the dark, expecting the worst and still being surprised when it happens.

It happens.

She was here, seemingly out of thin air- he was sure he didn’t see her walking here, was she _hiding_ \- and she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the granary, soundlessly closing its large door before he had a chance to wrench free.

For half a moment, both of them stood there, staring at each other. The granary was illuminated by the moonlight, which streamed in through the ventilation gaps in the slanting roof, and a single oil lamp which burned weakly. He was taken aback at her appearance- she looked younger than he thought she had been, fifteen at the most, hair shorter than he’d imagined, dark and straight. Her mouth curved upwards even as a frown line formed on her brow, and her hands slowly inched towards her back.

Zuko unsheathed his swords, ready for an attack.

She raised her hands up hurriedly, looking alarmed. “I’m sorry, I was just adjusting them- I wasn’t going to attack you.”

He didn’t want to talk, not with his mask still on; he knew his voice would be muffled, and decided to respond by lowering his weapons, still keeping a firm grip on them. The girl looked about as uncomfortable as he felt.

“I’m sorry, this feels stupid. I really didn’t think this through, did I?”

Zuko wished he could tell her just how vehemently he agreed with her on that. She looked almost sheepish now, in sharp contrast to her menacing demeanor from last night. His mind seemed to be screaming at the rest of him: _just leave, she’s a child, she’s clearly not the kind of person to threaten anyone with the Dai Li, you can just leave._

“Don’t leave!” she said suddenly, reading his mind- how could she even tell what he was thinking, she couldn’t see his _face- “_ It’s just weird asking you to fight me without even knowing your name." She finished her attempt at convincing him against all his instincts to run with an an impatient, pleading tug to the fringe of hair that covered her forehead, like she was not used to it being there. "I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess, but I need someone to spar with, or-“

For some reason he knew he won’t ever be able to figure out, her third _sorry_ is what caused him to snap.

“Or what,” he heard himself rasp out, and immediately he wanted to smack himself- she’d almost admitted her bluff on calling the Dai Li on him, he could have walked free without anything weighing on his conscience, why couldn’t he just _stay quiet-_

“Or I- I _don’t know,_ ” she said slowly, blinking. “If I don’t practice with them then I’ll forget everything, and I’ll forget-“ she cut herself off, looking equally horrified and embarrassed.

A part of Zuko was stirred at how vulnerable she sounded for a second, at how much smaller her voice had become. In another universe, he might have been in a position to sympathize- he, of all people, knew what it was like to feel like you were losing your skill.

The other, more familiar part of him felt elated at finally having the upper hand.

“Not my problem.”

“ _What?”_

He almost snapped at her for acting incredulous, and realized just as soon that the mask was muffling his words.

“That’s not my problem,” he says, louder, flinching slightly when he feels a dozen different tiny animals scurry across the cracked cement floor.

“I didn’t say it _was,”_ she snaps back, any traces of embarrassment gone from her face and replaced with something much more sinister. She finally unclasped her swords from her back without hesitation, daring him to move.

She said her next words in the most venomous voice he had ever heard: “You work at the tea-shop.”

Zuko’s heart dropped into his stomach.

Even the walls of the granary seemed to scream at him to run, to get away from what had to be, without a doubt, the worst nightmare he had had in years. First she ambushed him in the dead of the night, took his mask off, threatened him with the most dangerous security force in the whole Earth Kingdom, and revealed that she knew who he was and what he did. 

“I know all about you,” she says, not put off by his lack of response, her knuckles glowing white as her grip tightens on the handles.

The air around him seemed heavier, and he could almost feel it crackling with electricity, like the slightest shuffle in the wrong direction could cause the whole place to blow up. Zuko wished he could stop time, for just a few minutes, to come to terms with what has happened, and how every waking moment seemed a thousand times worse than the last- _she knows Uncle and I are firebenders, Fire Nation- if nothing else, it means she knows we're enemies of the Earth Kingdom._

He could see the gears turning behind her eyes, probably figuring out the best way to impale him to death, and he raised his Dao in preparation. _It might as well end this way;_ he realizes that he really was resigned to whatever the universe decided to throw at him. His mind flashed to that day in a place that was the complete opposite of whatever Ba Sing Se is- deserted, barren, quiet- except for the noise of the thunder as lightning flashed across the sky, and he had demanded, pleaded, begged for it to strike him, to give him a chance to fight back and prove himself.

He'd known he wouldn't win- the same way he knew he couldn't win whatever tonight was turning out to be. 

Her face was thrown into sharper detail as the lone lamp shone half a shade brighter, lengthening the shadows on the walls and deepening the cracks in the ground.

The moonlight had painted the inside of the building in a silvery half-glow, which now contended with the warmer, orange one of the lamp emanating from a distant corner. Zuko noted darkly that, to anyone who hadn’t been confronted their whole lives by a flame they seemed to command but had no control over, the change in the lamp’s brightness wouldn’t have felt like much- to him, it felt exactly like failure in the eyes of several royal tutors. His heart rose back up at breakneck speed until it lodged in his throat, and he really thought he was going to puke, scream, cry, anything to stop his stupid, stupid, _stupid_ firebending-

_That wasn’t me._

The belief started out as a hum from the back of his mind and slowly rippled down his chest through to his whole body- he hadn't been this sure of anything since last night. The feeling grounded him, seemed to make his feet touch the floor more firmly until he felt the top of his head and his fingertips turn cold from relief.

His breathing didn’t change- he’d had an intentional grip on it since the day had begun, he’d even meditated before he’d left the apartment tonight- and there is no way he could have made such a childish mistake, not right now, when he might actually have to die for it. Uncle had polished his basics too hard for him to have done that- and the flame inside the lamp still flickers unevenly, not at all in line with his own chest rising and falling exactly as it should be. No, this wasn't him, and Zuko almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation.

The realization dawned on him like a new day.

The girl’s breathing was ragged with rage.

He could sense her skin burn from several feet away.

He swore he could see, hear, _feel_ her inner fire sputter to life.

It didn't make him feel better that, for once, he was the better bender in the room.


	4. The First Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Moonshadow2113 for the review; i changed the writing style a bit for all the chapters, and adjusted this one to hopefully read a bit smoother. Please leave a review, all criticism is appreciated!

_Something’s wrong._

Zohra hadn’t been in too many honest-to-goodness fights in her life; her opponents were usually sparring partners, or her father, and in the times she lost, she could always tell exactly where she had gone wrong- there was always a moment where the universe seemed to stop and taunt her about which technique she had screwed up, or which move had been badly timed, or the realization that her opponent had outsmarted her.

The moment had passed already- she had felt it when she’d tried to bite out her last bit of leverage to stop him from leaving by revealing she knew who he was, and she had noticed him _relax._ His shoulders dropped and his stance loosened, indicating that he knew something she didn’t, and was about to use it against her. She drew up her swords defensively, still thrown off by her loss of control of the situation- she had him cornered, he could either try to outrun her or give in, and he seemed to be doing neither.

Panic filled her chest, and she tried to maintain a steely composure- why wasn’t he _talking?_ It was eerie, standing six feet apart from someone, who responded to each new piece of information she revealed to know about him with nothing but silence and a blue snarl.

She finally lost her patience, and lunged forward- if he had hung around this long, she might as well get something out of it. He reacted immediately, first stepping back several paces to save his mask from being knocked off by her swinging, then going on the offensive and trying to throw her back. She still felt like she was losing, even as she managed to block every one of his blows- his unusual reaction to her threat had thrown her off her rhythm, and even as they quietly moved in tight circles around the center of the granary with their swords softly clashing, neither managing to get the better of the other, Zohra felt hopeless and agitated.

She could feel her legs and arms move automatically, like she’d had the same opponent use the same moves a million times against her before. In spite of this, she was a little slower than she should have been after months of no , and she could see the boy try to take advantage of it, in the way he suddenly sprang forward every few seconds to try and catch her off guard. She deflected him easily. He tried to bait her towards the precariously balanced sacks of flour near the corners of the granary, probably in an attempt to get her to slash through some of them and lose control of her weapons for a bit- she immediately figured out his strategy, and refused to budge from the center. She favored her left leg- he picked up on her hesitation, and targeted her right pointedly.

He focused more on disarming her- she could tell by how he chose to strike close to her grip and occasionally to break her root through her right leg. She focused more on distracting him with smaller moves until she could land a final blow that would give her the upper hand; neither of them were successful. Zohra had enough experience with sword fighting to notice the intricacies of how her opponents moved, and something about blue-face was jarringly similar to the way her father wielded his sword- the way she still wielded hers. He was quick-footed, used his surroundings to his advantage, used her weaknesses against her-

The realization hit her like a sack of maggot-ridden flour. Zohra spent a couple of seconds absently blocking his jabs, weighing the merits of revealing this new, impossible connection see seemed to instinctively and undoubtedly believe to be true.

He finally managed to get the better of her, breaking her root until she suddenly fell flat on her back with her Dao pinned to the ground by his; now, the mask seemed to be grinning malevolently, instead of snarling at her. _Whatever,_ she heard a voice inside her head dictate, which sounds suspiciously like Liah’s; _say it, you officially have nothing left to lose._

“Hey, blue-face,” she said with as measured of a tone as she could manage, the hair over her forehead sticky with sweat. “Does the name ‘Piandao’ mean anything to you?”

A few seconds of silence pass between them; Zohra feels like she’s watching the situation develop from fifty feet above, her body strangely weightless.

“Who are you?” the boy rasped out, his voice steady but tinged with just enough shock for Zohra to realize that her suspicion might, against all odds, have been true.

“So that’s a yes,” she retorts, sucking her cheekbones in- as the adrenaline of the fight wears off, she noticed that he’d managed to nick several different spots on her right leg, and the smell of metal wafted through the cloying air of the granary.

“Who hired you?” he asked. “Answer the question.”

“I’ll tell you if you answer mine,” she said softly; the night had turned out so much more confusing than she’d anticipated. She could feel him scowl from behind the mask, and figured it was worth a shot to make another unreasonable demand. “Take the mask off- I already know what you look like.”

He ignored her; she realized that he was immobilized as long as she is, too; the way he had pinned her down has cut off his access to his own swords, which meant he likely couldn’t inflict too much damage while she was down. She took that as a cue to prod him for more information: “Look, I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Also, no one _hired_ me- I don’t know why you’d think that.”

“Then why are you doing this?” 

“I’m kind of uncomfortable right now, do you mind- uh,” she said, shifting uneasily. “You beat me, I’m backing off. Look, I’m pushing my swords away too.” She pushed each of her swords to the side with a flick of the wrist, which caused him to loosen his grip on them. “I’ll answer your questions too, but you have to answer mine first.”

“No, I don’t.”

“ _Seriously?_ Ugh, fine, I’ll answer yours first,” she grumbled, still shifting. He hesitantly backed off until she was free from his grasp, but still looms over her on his knees with his hands still wrapped around the hilt of his Dao. She nodded at him, rubbing at her wrists, and said, “I already told you, no one hired me. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted a sparring partner- my name’s Zohra.”

He stared at her vacantly through, what she assumes, were imperceptibly tiny slits in the eyes of the blue mask. Zohra tried a new strategy: “I’m, uh, I’m sorry I threatened you. Both times,” she added quickly, trying to remember the details of his real face; all she could recall was the pale red scar and nothing else. “I’m not…trying to get you in trouble, or anything. I saw you, with the mask and the swords a week ago, and every night since then, and I just- I wanted to use mine, too. That’s it, I promise.”

“Why did you ask me about Piandao?” His voice, still muffled through the mask, is rough and freshly broken- it filled her with some confidence that he could not be much older than her.

“The way you were fighting; I’d recognize it anywhere. He was my- he was a friend of my family’s,” Zohra said, carefully. She was not totally sure how much she could, or wanted, to say right now; she hadn’t spoken Master Piandao’s name out loud since her father passed away.

“Give me your swords,” he demanded suddenly. Zohra flinched in surprise, but figured that she was already in deeper trouble than she’d expected to be- she might as well play this by the ear. She slowly inched her right hand towards the one closest to her, holding up the other in a show of surrender, and thrust it towards him, handle first.

He let it land on the patch of floor between them- the same patch of floor Zohra had hastily cleaned earlier today. Her head felt heavier on her shoulders all of a sudden, as the full impact of the ridiculousness of the night came to full focus. He picked the sword up abruptly, examined it the same way she had his the night before; Zohra quickly realized what he was looking for; she answers for him: “It’s not an original- one of his apprentices made it.”

He suddenly pushed his mask back so it rested on his head, casting a shadow over his pale face; there was a heavy layer of sweat coating his skin. Zohra pointedly tried to not look at his left side, which forced her to turn her head oddly so only his good eye is in her focus- she didn’t trust herself to not blurt out a question about how anyone could survive a scar like that. He didn’t seem to notice, and asked, “ _You’re_ one of Piandao’s apprentices?”

Zohra shook her head, drawing her knees up to her chest. The boy stiffened at her movement, but didn’t try to stop her. “No, I wasn’t- I’m not.”

“Who gave you the swords? Who trained you?”

“I’ll need longer than tonight to answer both those questions,” Zohra snapped, irritation growing in her voice. “You have to answer mine, now. Did _you_ train with Piandao?”

He looked at her evenly, eyes glimmering. “Yes.”

The ease with which he answered the question surprised her- she’d expected several more minutes of bargaining. _He’s from the Fire Nation_ echoed in her mind; she felt oddly calm. “Okay. Anything else?”

“What?”

“I mean, do you have any more questions you want to ask me? Before I ask you mine.”

His gaze shifted from her to the rest of the granary. He spent a few seconds seemingly just taking in the surroundings, and his eyes lingered on the wall behind her. Before she could turn around to follow his gaze, he suddenly looked at her again with an intensity she’s never experienced before; it sent a mild shiver through her to be seen like this. “You’re a firebender.”

Zohra swore she heard the universe come to a screeching halt.

* * *

Zuko was _done_ trying to make sense of the universe.

The blood had drained out of her face; Zuko knew this is a reckless, stupid thing to do- he’d pretty much confirmed that he, too, had trained with Master Piandao and she would soon make the connection that he was from the Fire Nation, too. He struggled to remember, now, why he had so easily admitted to it; possibly because he knew he had leverage on her. She chose to point out that his fighting style was typical of someone who had trained with the revered sword-master, and not that he too was a firebender; that meant that she didn’t know he was one, since the latter was far, far more incriminating.

He was not entirely sure what he was doing. But his curiosity had, not for the first time, gotten the better of him.

The flame in the lamp was now flickering weakly; it was difficult for him to determine if it was just a badly made lamp, or if her nervousness threatened to plunge them into darkness. Her control over her element is too weak; Zuko knew it _existed_ , because if it didn’t, he would have caught on to her ability quicker than he did. No, she had enough restraint to have gone undetected till now; she has clearly been in Ba Sing Se longer than he has, and firebenders with no control usually don’t survive very long, especially not in obscurity.

“No, I’m not.”

Zuko felt the muscles in his face twitch at the amount of effort she put into sounding convincing. “Now we’re even,” he said, shoulders relaxing. _I can finally forget this mess- she wouldn’t dare try anything now that I have leverage over her._

She scowled at him; he was suddenly very aware that she could see his face now, and winced at how he’d just taken his mask off, without any foresight, when he had sensed himself close to winning.“ _You’re_ from Fire Nation too- I know Master Piandao hasn’t left the islands for years. You really think accusing _me_ of being a bender gets you off the hook?”

“Yes, it does,” he snapped, shifting to get up, weapons still in his hands in case she tried anything. She mimicked his movement, her right leg straining slightly- _good._

“How stupid do you think I am,” she spit out, quickly looking around for her swords. She noticed one between them and grabbed at it, but held it limply to her side- a means of protection, not ready to attack first. “There’s no _way_ you could have figured that out about me if you weren’t one yourself!”

Zuko realized his misstep, and wished the ground would swallow him whole. How is he always one step behind her? He’d been willing to just let the Piandao thing go; it was confusing for her to know him, and she had no reason to unless she had trained with him- Zuko’s old teacher had always kept a notoriously low profile, even during his career as an infantry officer. He was willing to let _anything_ go to get her off his tail. The only thing she doesn't know about him yet is his real name and former title; and, with his luck, she’d turn out to know about that too. He briefly considered making a break for it, but he knew it was futile; she would also know exactly where he’d be running to.

“What, no clever retort,” she scoffed, slightly out of breath, tapping her left foot impatiently. She shook her head and sucked her cheekbones in, like this is situation is one to warrant exasperation and not abject confusion. “We’re both at a stalemate, and you haven’t answered _my_ questions yet. So, I’ll let you do that now. How do _you_ know Master Piandao?”

“I trained with him,” he said, not seeing a way out of this that didn’t end in either arrest by the Dai Li, or another grueling duel; he wasn't sure which he’s less prepared for now. She was a good fighter, clearly someone who had been training for at least as long as he had, and Zuko was half-sure that the only reason he was able to come out on top was because she had wanted him to.

“So you ran away from the Fire Nation?”

H was taken aback at this question; running away was akin to treason. Not that he wasn’t guilty of it; just not for the reason she seemed to think. “Yes.”

Her expression softened, and she answered in a calmer tone than she’s used all night: “Okay. And I’m guessing you’re a pretty good bender, if you were able to tell I was one; how’d you do it?”

“The lamp acted strangely when- when you got mad at me earlier,” he said, wondering if the night would ever come to an end at all.

She looked satisfied with his answer, but the frown line in the center of her forehead was back again. “When’s the last time you met Master Piandao?”

“Three years ago.”

“Is he- Is he okay?”

“…what?”

She looked anxious, like she’d asked the wrong question. She seems to look at a point past his shoulder wistfully, as if she expects someone to walk in and make the situation slightly less confusing than it is. Zuko opened his mouth to elaborate, that he truthfully had no idea what happened to Piandao- she cut him off: “Why’d you run away?”

He paused, trying to find the most compelling lie. “I didn’t want to fight.”

She didn’t challenge him on this; he could see gears turning behind her eyes again, and her mouth pressed into a thin line, like she was trying to erase it- does _everyone_ look like that when they’re thinking? “Are you- can you go back?”

She could probably tell from his expression that he was trying to say “No” out loud. It makes her let out a silent, nervous laugh, which plainly told him that she couldn't, either. Her face changed until she resembled an older, more jaded version of herself. _Zohra,_ Zuko remembers her saying- her name is Zohra. He had never heard it before; he suddenly realized that she didn’t really tell him anything concrete about herself. When he had asked his half-baked questions, formulated only to protect himself (and how spectacularly _that_ had backfired), she hadn’t really revealed much- why had she run from the Fire Nation? Something was amiss- no one _left_ the Fire Nation until they were forced to, especially not firebenders; they were guaranteed employment in the military, or in security, or in training academies, and were treated with reverence. No citizen ever left, unless it was for trade or the war- Uncle Iroh had been the first member of the Fire Nation to leave on a personal, non-Firelord-approved quest, and return; _that too,_ Zuko’s voice echoed in his head, heavy with guilt, _that too for barely a couple of years._

“Why’d _you_ leave?” he asked, not quite meeting her gaze. He wanted, desperately, to sit down; his legs were trembling, and he hadn’t talked this much, for this long, to someone who wasn’t Uncle or his crew on the _Wani_ in _years._

She let out another humorless laugh, glancing up through the gaps in the wooden roof before answering slowly, like she was not sure of herself. “I’ve never been to the Fire Nation.”

Zuko raised his brow; he waits for her to explain further. She opened and closed her mouth for several seconds- he got the impression that she probably hadn’t talked to anyone about this before, either. “I can’t tell you everything right now, but- maybe we can help each other out?” She sank to the floor on her knees and then crossed her legs, motioning for him to do the same. He dropped down slowly, his grip on his swords loosening for the first time since she had pulled him into the granary. “How much experience do you have with bending?”

“Since I was a kid.”

She nodded, and Zuko had a sinking feeling in his gut that he knew what her next, impossible demand was going to be. Not that he wanted to reject it; he wanted nothing more than to train again, and it’s wasn't _healthy_ for a bender to actively be suppressing their element for this long. 

“You look like you’ve figured out what I’m about to ask,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning up even as her eyes remained distant. Her hint of a smile disappeared again as she said, “I don’t want to ask you to show me anything crazy, just- just teach me how to control it better, okay? You were able to tell I was a firebender, and I don’t want to be caught off guard again.”

He looked at her, trying to figure out how to let her down gently. Against all odds, Zuko felt some kind of sympathy for her. If, for nothing else, the fact that she was from the Fire Nation- she was of the same land that he was from, that she wasn’t ever going to see again- that she seemed to yearn for in the same way he did.

She still had leverage over him, too.

“I’ll think about it.”

She nodded, as if this was the best she could have hoped for. “If you’re okay with it, I’d like to- to meet again, for sparring,” she said as she pushed her hair back. “You have no idea how great this felt- you’re really good.”

Zuko was taken aback at the genuine compliment. He rubbed at his neck, averting his gaze before he said, “You’re good too.”

“So, we can keep doing this? I work here during the day, so you don’t have to worry about anyone finding out about it- no one comes here, especially not after curfew.”

He nodded; his mask was still perched on top of his head, and he was not quite sure what to do with it anymore. She looked sheepish again, and said, “Okay, well. Thanks, for uh, coming tonight. I’m sorry about freaking you out- I promise I won’t tell anyone about this, or about you.”

He nodded again; his throat suddenly felt parched and raw. “Okay.”

“One last thing,” she said hurriedly as she stood up, motioning for him to follow. Zuko’s head was swimming with the shaky, contradictory information he had learned tonight. He watched her sheath her swords, her arms working automatically; he could sense the sincerity in what she had revealed, but he knew it couldn't be the whole truth. “What’s your name?”

“Lee.”

Two can play at _that_ game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Know I sound like a broken record but...please review, all criticism is appreciated!! Also, I promise I’ll explain the whole Piandao thing in the next chapter- I chose not to now because it would bog down this one too much, and I wanted to devote attention to what connects Zohra to the fire nation in a lot more detail//plus stay tuned for an Iroh POV very soon!!


	5. I Need Your Advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally getting to some different POVs, please let me know if there are any inconsistencies. Reviews are lovely, please leave them here for me, and let me know if everyone is still reading this!!! Nothing motivates me to write more than readers directly telling me they want to know what happens next

For the first time in Ba Sing Se, Zohra dreamed of her father.

She recognized their house in Tianhua, small and bright in the summer sun; Dad stood in the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets, still in his work clothes from the forgery- this was the time of day when customers would thin out because of the afternoon heat, and Dad would take a break from work to give her a lesson with her newly crafted Dao. He looked at her worriedly - a look that always accompanied a speech he would deliver several times a year

_You have to be careful, Zohra._

She felt herself nod; no words would come out of her mouth. Her father’s voice was measured, gentle; she knew exactly what he was talking about, she had heard this speech more times than she could count.

_You’re the first firebender in our family in generations.. And, just your luck too; your old man happens to be on the run from them. I know it’s hard, and it’s frustrating never being able to use it, but you have to promise you won’t put us in trouble._

She nodded again; the house seemed to be growing colder, the edges of its surfaces blurring. Dad ran a hand through his hair- the grease on his fingertips made the short, dark strands stand straight up. This was how she remembered him- kind and comforting and always covered in soot from work- she hoped he would ask her for a sparring round right now, teach her something new his own Master had taught him in his years working for the Fire Nation military.

_You don’t need bending, anyway- you’re not even sixteen, and you’re about to overtake me as a sword-fighter! I wish you had the chance to train with Piandao- he could make you into a true master. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you that._

Zohra wanted desperately to assure him that she _didn’t_ want another life- she couldn’t have asked for a better one. She wanted to say that she understood the decisions he had to make, and he didn’t need to explain himself to her. She could taste sand; her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, and wouldn’t move to make a sound.

_You know I love you more than anything, Zohra? I did this for you- I didn’t want you to have a life where all you would know is war._

She nodded again, and finally reached out towards him; he disappeared into a puff of black smoke, and the house stood empty again.

She woke up later than she was used to- dawn had passed, and the sun had broken over the horizon, streaming softly in through the window near her bed. She looked down to make sure she had changed out of her black clothes from last night, and sighed in relief when she felt the cool touch of a cotton night shirt against her skin.

Her legs were bare- Zohra winced when she saw the small, half-healed scabs on her right leg from last night. They didn’t hurt much, but Zohra knew she would have to clean them up properly- she didn’t want to run the risk of an infection. She gingerly tiptoed to the other end of the apartment, and dipped a washcloth into the basin, wringing it out as softly as she could- Liah still snored softly in her own bed. Once she was done, she quickly changed back into plain work clothes- her shift would start soon, and she needed a day of boring, manual work to mull over last night’s events.

She felt oddly calm about whatever had conspired last night, even as a part of her wanted to run away from the situation entirely; this boy was the first person to know she had a connection to the Fire Nation, and it would be easy for him to use it against her. It was dangerous enough to be caught dueling, but to be caught while _firebending_ was basically an invitation to execution by the Earth Kingdom. She had built a tenuous existence for herself in the Lower Ring; she had a job, an apartment, and a friend- it was more than a refugee could hope for.

But…it was _hard_ not to. After Dad had died, she had spent several months living alone in their house, scrubbing the walls to get the smell of smoke out of them, ignoring the other villager’s advice to leave before the Fire Nation could force them to. She had no one else to turn to- her father had run from active military duty in the Fire Nation, which made him a traitor _,_ which was punishable by death. Zohra spent less than two years on the islands; her mother’s sudden death had pushed her father to leave a land he could no longer love. He had served in an elite team of non-benders in the infantry who were stationed in the freshly conquered Earth Kingdom cities for several months at a time, ruthlessly crushing any chances of rebellions and insurgencies before they could happen. He didn’t like talking about it much; all she knew was that he had become sick of fighting a war they had already won, and wanted out. She had left in the end, of course; Ba Sing Se was the only place she could stay safe from the war, which is all her father had wanted for her. She felt, all the time, like she was going nowhere- despite the life she had built, on her own- which she was sure Dad would be proud of- she could not help but want the life she had never lived back.

Zohra shook her head, trying to get the taste of sand out of her mouth; the dream had rattled her more than she was willing to admit to herself. She tore off a piece of bread from the larder and hastily chewed on it, eager to leave before Liah could wake up today; she wasn’t sure she could look her in the eye anymore. She felt guilt spreading in her stomach at the thought that if she got into trouble, so would her friend- the whole street knew they lived together, and the Dai Li would assume she was her accomplice in some way. Zohra tiptoed out of the apartment, down the narrow, musty hallway until her skin sighed with relief at the touch of cool morning air. Wuei wouldn’t even be in right now; he usually sauntered in several hours after the gong had been struck, and she would be left alone to ponder over how much she was willing to reveal to the boy in the mask.

* * *

As Wuei walked the long route towards his job, he allowed himself to get lost in thought; he realized that he would be turning nineteen in exactly a week. It didn’t feel like cause for celebration, in the wake of all that had happened.

He tried not to complain; his father’s death two years ago was unexpected, but he had been ready to move on; his mother was still alive, and still grieving her loss, and he knew he had to look after her. His plans for university would have to wait- not many Lower Ring boys got the chance to attend at all, but his exemplary performance in the entrance exam had put him first on the list for reduced tuition and free accommodation. He had been ready and willing to give it up, at least for the time being, to give his mother time to adjust to a life without her husband.

How he _wished_ it had remained that simple.

Two days after his father’s funeral- a hastily arranged event at the overflowing cemetery beyond the inner wall, which was attended by his immediate family and two people Wuei had never seen in his life- his mother had handed him a scroll. Wuei remembered how he had delayed reading it- he had stupidly assumed that it was a letter from the university, informing him that his request to defer a year had been denied and he had forever lost his chance at a life outside the Lower Ring.

No, it had been far, far worse: he would have to complete the terms of the contract his father had signed twenty two years ago; three more years, 12 more seasons working as a manager at a stupid, _stupid_ communal granary. Earth Kingdom law dictated that civil service extended beyond the lifetime of the servant- if they kicked the bucket before their contract was up, the duty would pass on to their first-born son, if he was of age.

And of age he was- he had turned seventeen just a week before his father had died, which meant he was actually a whole year older than he needed to be to take the job. The administrative office of the Lower Ring would not even bother opening the dozens of letters he had written, begging for them to reconsider- he was top of his class, and he would be better off working as an assistant to a scholar, or with _any_ kind of professional who did more than take inventory. But, as far as they were concerned, this was not even up for debate; Wuei being stationed at the granary meant they would have three more years before having to shift through the massive lists of applicants again who were desperate for a job with guaranteed pay for twenty-five years.

He had no choice but to take it; his mother wouldn’t get the pension she was entitled to until the contract was fulfilled, and Wuei couldn’t have a shot at a better life for them until those three years were up. Resigned to his fate, he had accepted the offer, and marveled at how fast one’s life could escape their grasp. The first few months were grueling; the employees were disgruntled that a kid younger than them was now their boss, and the granary itself was _dreadful-_ all cobwebs and rat-badgers, and sacks of grains only the most pitiful of refugees would go near. Wuei hated it, and let it be known to everyone who would listen that he hated it- he saw no honor in pretending that this job was some kind of blessing, when it felt like imprisonment.

After he had informed his mother of his decision, she had sat him down again at their table in their dingy house in the heart of the Lower Ring, and presented him with another scroll. Wuei had almost cried in frustration at the sight of it, and refused to take it at first; no one could force him into another job he didn’t want if he simply refused to acknowledge it. But, she had pressed it into his hand anyway, and asked him to read it when he was ready.

He had opened it later that night, not sure what to expect; his mother’s tone had confirmed it wasn’t anything he would _dislike_ , per se. It was a short document, written in traditional script, the ink watery and dull against the rough paper- it was from his father.

He had read it for what felt close to a hundred times; each time, it seemed more implausible. But, there it was, his father’s last words to him: _Wuei; I hope you and your mother are doing well. Whenever you get this message, proceed to the alley next to Pao’s Tea Shop, and knock three times and tap once on the white wooden shutters on the dead-end wall._

And, that had been it; no good-bye, no warning of what was to befall him at the miserable job at the granary, no _I’m sorry you had to withdraw your name from university, son._ Wuei had almost thrown it away in anger, but his curiosity outweighed his contempt. He had gone to the alley behind Pao’s shabby tea shop at the end of his very first week at his father’s old job, knocked thrice and tapped once, and waited.

A frail old man had welcomed him; the shutters had opened to reveal a tiny room, empty save for two floor cushions nestled around a worn Pai Sho board. The man had motioned him in, and flatly said, “The guest has the first move.”

Wuei had shrugged, and played the move he had played all his life, like how his father had taught him; the white lotus tile, in the center of the board. It was a childhood habit that he couldn’t seem to get rid of: he always played in the same manner, no matter who the opponent was. It was a useless move and accomplished nothing, just delayed the game by about half a minute- he had kept doing it because it was funny to see an opponent get confused when you wasted a turn, and the confusion would make them hesitate on every move for the rest of the game. It was innocent, hilarious, and a secret him and his father shared- he had never thought to question it. 

What happened afterwards was…a blur. He was told, in the most cryptic means possible, that his father was a low-ranking member of the Order of the White Lotus, and they needed Wuei to fill his duties- the society was on its dying breath as the war drew to a close, and Ba Sing Se needed as many representatives within its walls as possible. The man had refused to share even his name, and Wuei didn’t even bother to question him further- he had simply sworn to secrecy, and accepted another set of scrolls which detailed his duties to the Order. He was sent off wordlessly, and the shutters had snapped behind him; the wall now resembled its usual, unassuming self.

Once he had reached home, he devoured the scrolls over and over- they detailed the very earliest history of the organization, taking no real names of its founders and current members, and spoke of the White Lotus’ commitment to uniting people of all four nations in seeking philosophy, beauty, and truth. It was _great-_ he much preferred having _this_ as an inheritance, and not an awful managerial job at an awful, unmanageable-granary. This was the kind of stuff he would have been studying at university, over glasses of sake and boisterous debate in student halls- it was a welcome distraction from the otherwise bleak fate he was resigned to. His duties for the Order were minimal; simply maintain a presence at the Lower Ring, and answered when summoned by someone who said the right words.

No one had said the right words so far- two years were gone, and the Order amounted to nothing more than the scrolls detailing ancient knowledge he couldn’t tell anyone about. Wuei had, against all odds, settled into a routine that didn’t involve several hours of wallowing in self pity- since refugees had started flooding the Lower Ring, bringing with them stories of the destruction of the war and news from beyond the walls, he never even got the chance to be bored anymore. He would badger poor souls on the street until they revealed some information he hadn’t heard before, or verified what he had.

In fact, his days had become almost _pleasant_ since he hired Zohra; dark hair, sharp wit, and absolutely no tolerance for Wuei- he had been enamored since the day he met her. She would answer his questions flatly when she wanted to, or stare daggers when she didn’t. She wasn’t a girl he would ever like to be with, particularly; she was a little too cynical, even for him- but she was _refreshing,_ and the two of them had built up, what Wuei hoped, was a relationship of mutual respect, even as he purposely aggravated her into near insanity for a laugh. When he reached the granary at long last and found her looking as happy as someone who had to mop a floor clean of badger-rat droppings, his face broke into a grin with no effort at all- he had, just for that moment, forgotten about his father’s death, and his lost chance at escaping the Lower Ring, _and_ about the Order at the sight of her sticking her tongue out at him in childish malice.

* * *

There were not many things that would surprise the Dragon of the West anymore.

His nephew asking him for his help unprompted, however, was still one of them.

After they had reached their apartment, Zuko had bolted the door closed, and shuttered the window. Iroh had objected; the room was not build with ventilation in mind, and without the lone open window, they were likely to be cooked alive on the warm spring night. Zuko had been on edge since they had reached Ba Sing Se- since yesterday, however, he had been _jumpy_ ; he would leap a foot into the air when anyone approached him, had just now almost somersaulted when a cat-owl had crept too close to him on their walk back to the apartment. It was unusual, but Iroh had declined to comment; when it came to his nephew, it was usually better to not be the first to mention when something felt wrong.

Zuko sat before him now, his gaze fixed squarely on the threadbare rug under him as his fingers toyed with its frayed edges. Iroh studied him for a moment, taking in the sunken cheekbones, the dark shadows under his eyes, the way his skin looked pallid even after a week of uninterrupted hot meals, three times a day.

“What is it, Zuko?”

He flinched at the mention of his real name.

“Uncle, I- I need your advice.”

Iroh nodded at him to continue. Zuko still hadn’t met his gaze.

“Two nights ago, I was ambushed.”

He raised his eyebrows; he should have been more concerned, but the fact that Zuko had waited this long meant they weren’t in immediate danger. Ba Sing Se was dangerous anyway, petty criminals didn’t think twice before striking to kill; if he was not hurt, all was well. “Are you alright?”

“What? Yes, of course,” he muttered, eyes still fixed squarely on the ground.

“You must tell me what happened.”

He paused, lifting his head ever so slightly before dropping it back down; the back of his neck seemed to glow in the dim light of the apartment. “I’d been…out, past curfew. I had the Dao with me.”

 _Do not react,_ Iroh told himself. _Let him say it._

“I guess she must have seen me- I don’t know how that happened. I was…disguised,” Zuko said carefully, looking firmly at a point past Iroh’s shoulder.

“And this person attacked you unprovoked?”

“Yes. But, she didn’t do anything- she just knocked me out, and later threatened me with the Dai Li.”

Iroh could not hold himself back any longer. He lunged forward and grabbed Zuko’s shoulder firmly, forcing his nephew to look him in the eye. “What did she say? Are you sure you’re alright?”

He shook himself free, leaning back until he was out of Iroh’s grasp. “Uncle, I’m _fine._ She wanted to spar with me- she had dual swords, too. She asked me to meet her the next night at the communal granary, the one near our tea shop.”

 _Perhaps,_ he thought to himself, as he did his best to not look as shaken as he felt, _there are still things that_ can _surprise me._ “And you went.”

“I had no choice,” he said, the anger in his voice rising. “She said she knew the Dai Li agent who patrolled that street- I couldn’t take the chances.”

“Well,” Iroh said, trying not to let the mention of the Dai Li shock him into an outburst of concern- he had to let Zuko arrive at the point on his own time, or he would shut down again. He tried to lighten the mood; it usually irritated a confession out of moody teenagers: “You seem to be uninjured- she must not have been very good.”

Zuko scoffed, and shook his head again. The silence threatened to swallow up the whole room- Iroh refused to break it first. Zuko finally spoke: “No, that’s not it _-_ Uncle, she said she knew Master Piandao.”

 _Well, there’s another thing I could never have expected._ “Zuko…”

“She’s from the _Fire Nation,”_ he said, in a fervent whisper. “She’s a firebender, too- I saw her do it, the lamp in the granary…it was the same thing I did when I was younger, when I’d be controlling a flame without even realizing it. She’s never had anyone to teach her, it’s a miracle she’s made it this far-“

“Zuko,” Iroh finally cut him off, feeling him tremble from several feet away. “What does she know about us?”

Zuko’s lack of a response was an answer in itself. Iroh stared at him, trying to read his expression beyond the mask of trepidation that has become a permanent feature- it had replaced the scowl of the last three years, and Iroh almost wanted the anger back to replace the fear. Zuko shook his head again, and said, “She doesn’t know anything real, but Uncle I- I don’t _know_. I know this is a bad situation, and I should never have put us in danger, but-“

He cuts himself off, blinking, finally looking Iroh in the eye. He grabbed his shoulder again, and this time Zuko let him, as his body went entirely still- his breathing had slowed down until it was almost undetectable.

“Breathe,” he said, gently. “Zuko, you haven’t told me everything; we can’t do anything until you do.”

The look Zuko gave him was so pitiful that Iroh was transported to that fateful day, three years ago in the War room. He finally began to talk, quietly, his words almost jumbling together. Iroh listened, his heart jumping at each new revelation; this was most unusual. As Zuko told him of the girl’s supposed connection to the sword master, and her ability as a bender, Iroh’s first instinct was that she must have been from the colonies- plenty of Fire Nation soldiers had families who had never and would never see their old country- but, then why would she be in Ba Sing Se? Zuko echoed his concern, and Iroh allowed his impassive façade to break into a frown; this was _highly_ unusual.

“What,” he asks, after Zuko assures him that she did not know anything of their connection to the Royal Family, “did she say about Piandao?”

“She recognized my- my fighting style,” Zuko said, his voice low, and his face just the slightest bit relieved; Iroh knew that this must have been weighing on him the whole working day, and it would not have done him any good to keep it to himself much longer. They were better equipped to handle this when Zuko was done keeping secrets. “She asked me if I knew him; I didn’t say anything, but she seemed convinced anyway- Uncle, how _could_ she know him? If what she said about never having been to the Fire Nation was true, then it’s _impossible-_ he hasn’t left the islands in years.”

“Did she say she trained with him?”

“No- but then how could she recognize-“

“Nephew, you must slow down,” Iroh said, firmly; the last thing either of them needed was for Zuko to spiral. “One thing at a time; now, tell me what else she demanded you do?”

“She…wanted help with firebending.”

“Zuko-“

“Yes, but Uncle-“

“Zuko-“

“I couldn’t say no, Uncle- I told her I’d think about it.”

“Why not?”

“Why not…what?”

“Why couldn’t you say no?”

Zuko looked at him incredulously, as if the idea had never even struck him as a possibility. He shifted uncomfortably and drew his knees up to his chest; the apartment was sweltering, but neither of them spoke of it. “I feel…responsible.”

“You feel responsible,” Iroh echoed; _there’s another surprise._

“She’s from the _Fire Nation,”_ Zuko said, his voice barely audible. “I can’t- she doesn’t belong here.”

“She’s a refugee,” Iroh said, his ears still unbelieving. “I’m not sure I understand what you think we should do.”

“She still knows the Dai Li agent,” Zuko said, flatly. “I can’t risk it- she could turn me in easily.”

“Yes, but she must know that you can do the same,” Iroh said firmly.

“Uncle, I asked for your _advice,“_ he gritted out, eyes dropping to the ground again. “I don’t _know_ what to do- I thought you’d be able to help me.”

“I _am_ helping you, nephew.”

“No, you’re _not,”_ Zuko hissed. “She’s _Fire Nation.”_

Iroh brought his hands up to his face and sighed- he didn’t want to say it out loud: “Zuko, _we’re_ not Fire Nation.”

The room was soundless- Iroh dared not speak first. He always tried to avoid talking about the Fire Nation entirely with Zuko; he knew the boy still thought it his destiny to return to the Caldera with the Avatar, with honour. Even after Ozai had put his own son through the worst, Zuko still wanted his approval- it was painful to see, but Iroh knew better than to shake sense into Zuko; if that was all it took to convince him of something, they would have abandoned the mission years ago. And now- even after his brother had publicly declared his own kin to be traitors for the mishap at the North Pole, and set his own daughter after them- if Zuko still believed he had a shot at being crown prince again, a shot at returning home, then he was doomed to fail his image of himself, of what his destiny should be. Of all people, the Dragon of the West knew what _that_ was like; he had lost his son, his siege, and his crown in one fell swoop- the life he had envisioned for himself had been snatched from him in an instance.

Iroh had taken his time to reach the wisdom he enjoyed now; his son’s death had been the catalyst for an immediate understanding that something was not right about his nation, his position, his responsibilities. Zuko would reach the point too, and Iroh was sure of it: the difference was, that at the time of his trial, Zuko had been young, painfully young- he was _still_ painfully young. He could not see beyond his suffering for now, could not _understand_ that the only way to recover from it was to undergo a profound change. Iroh had accompanied him three years ago on his hopeless quest for the Avatar with the express purpose of helping his nephew in the way he could not help Lu Ten- by helping him see beyond the Fire Nation, and the violence it had glorified. Zuko had been scarred, abandoned, banished into a void with no escape- all because he had spoken out for his people.

 _And that’s why he’s troubled now,_ Iroh thought gravely. Zuko felt _responsible_ for this girl because she was Fire Nation- he felt as responsible for has as he did for the young unnamed soldiers their great country was ready to sacrifice without a second thought.

Zuko refused to reply; he turned his face away, and huffed at the wall; Iroh sighed, and once again, for his nephew, resorted to what he knew should always be the last resort.

“I will have to contact the Order.”


	6. Fire-scum Sympathizer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short Zuko POV- I promise the next chapter is mostly him. Reviews make my day and also majorly motivate me to update faster, so please let me know if I've made any mistakes and if you guy are still reading this!

Zohra had gone to the apartment immediately after her shift had ended; she needed to distract herself, and there was a mountain of food waiting to be cooked. She tried to focus only on the sound of the paring knife against the shaky cutting board that she had bought a few weeks earlier, at a discount from a merchant she never saw again. It was shabby craftsmanship, the wood had already started to splinter after a few uses, and shook violently whenever her knife struck against it.

Liah walked in earlier than Zohra had expected her to- she had already started heating up the low-grade peanut oil, and the smell of sulfur and garlic as it fried wafted through the air. Liah wrinkled her nose at her, and said, “Let me do the rest, you always overcook it.”

“I take offense at that,” Zohra retorted, throwing a stray carrot top at her head. Liah dodged it easily and laughed as she sat down on their apartment’s lone, rickety stool. “But, sure, you can take over the cooking- I still have the mushrooms left to chop anyway.”

Liah nodded, and stepped forward to stand next to her, their elbows grazing. The two of them settled into a comfortable silence for a few minutes; Zohra’s mind had stopped racing for the first time, and she sighed in relief.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you!” Liah proclaimed suddenly, breaking the spell of peace; Zohra almost scowled in annoyance, but held herself back- she refused to let own negative energy infect Liah’s. “Guess who I ran into on the way home!”

“Who?”

“Wuei!”

“Oh, that’s no fun,” Zohra groaned.

“I don’t know why you hate him so much,” Liah said, giggling. “But, yeah, he said hello to me, and guess who he was with!”

Zohra shrugged in response- Liah, unperturbed, barreled on, “The guy from the tea shop! You know- the one I told you about!”

The chopping board slid out from under her, sliding a few inches to the left until it came precariously close to falling off the table; the mushrooms were spared, still clinging to the rough wood of the board, while Zohra’s hand was not- blood trickled down her her finger, threatening to fall onto their dinner. She dropped the knife in shock, trying to look as nonchalant as possible- _why_ was he talking to _Wuei,_ of all people? Her brain refused to accept that two people occupying such distinct, separate corners of it could ever interact in real life.

“Zohra, you’re bleeding!” Liah exclaimed- she had already attributed the injury to the low quality of the cutting board, and not Zohra’s abject surprise that Wuei could even _exist_ as someone outside of his role as her manager. Much less someone who had spoken to a boy she had ambushed, threatened, and revealed herself to in the dark of the granary _he_ had hired her to work at.

“I can see that,” she said, averting her gaze, even as her feet refused to move.

“Oh, do _I_ have to wrap it up for you, Your Highness? Clean up, you’re going to get the food all icky.”

Zohra bit the inside of her cheek, and forced her stiff legs to march over to the washbasin. She plunged her hand into the cold water- it turned a violent shade of pink. She wrapped it up in a torn, clean piece of muslin she found tucked near the washcloths, the closest thing they had to bandages. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but her hand still throbbed from the wound- she could barely notice the pain as her mind kicked into gear again.

“Do I need to let you recover, or can I finish my story?”

Zohra sighed, and tried to mask her anxiety- her face seemed to be locked in a frown. “No, I’m fine; what happened?”

“Oh, nothing interesting- but I said hi to him too, the server boy, even though I wasn’t sure if he’d remember me, and he jumped about a foot into the air, like I’d thrown something at him- it was funny in the moment because he looked so ridiculous, but,” Liah said, her smile disappearing as she (Zohra assumed) pictured the left side of his face, “now it seems more sad.”

“Thrilling,” Zohra said, trying to keep her voice as monotone as possible, praying it passed off as sarcasm and not as an indication in how little she even knew how to react. _Why did he have to be talking to Wuei, of all people?_ “What were they talking about?”

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.”

After seeing Zohra’s lack of a comprehensive response to this anecdote, Liah quickly launched into a different story about the latest mishap at the Chu’s. Zohra shook her head to stop her thoughts from eating away at her brain- she needed to call tonight off. Everything seemed too entangled, Wuei being even remotely involved seemed too uncanny to be real, and she did not want to risk getting caught; her bravado of the last two nights had worn off and she quickly realized how abjectly _terrified_ she was of being found out. No one would ask for her, look for her, help her escape imprisonment or death- not even Liah, if she found out what Zohra really was.

“Let’s eat,” she announced loudly, as soon as Liah’s impression of her employer’s exaggerated reaction at the idea of stepping into the Lower Ring ended. They ate the food quickly, eager to be done with the subpar meal- neither of them were very good cooks. Liah suddenly mentioned, as they washed and stacked away their wooden plates, that she wanted to go for a cup of tea after dinner, and maybe apologize to Lee for scaring him. Zohra nodded vacantly, trying to look disinterested so Liah wouldn’t ask her to come along.

No such luck- as soon as they were done cleaning up, Liah had all but dragged her across the street into the shabby tea shop. Zohra had never been there before- she did not see the point of spending the very little money she made on tea that she could brew by herself at home. Now, she especially didn’t want to go inside because she didn’t want Lee to think she was following him- she was half-convinced that it would be wise to call their whole deal off, even the sparring, before either of them got into trouble.

Pao’s wasn’t a very appealing place, anyway- the ceiling was too low, the crowds too rough, and a permanent cloud of smoke from some unknown source hung in the air around it, making the whole place smell like something that was decidedly _not_ aromatic tea. Zohra made all these points, desperately, trying to distract Liah until she could come up with a solid excuse for why the tea shop across the street was the _last_ place she wanted to be right now.

As Liah dragged her in, Zohra’s jaw dropped: a tall, lanky boy stood directly in front of her, facing a familiar face that looked downright _murderous._ The boy closer to her had drawn a pair of hooked swords, and his feet were locked in a fighting stance; Zohra dragged Liah to the side, too transfixed to bother removing herself from the situation.

“These two are firebenders!” the boy in red screamed, pointing a hooked sword at Lee and the old man in a matching apron standing beside him. All the blood in her body seemed to rush to her head, and she almost fell backwards, her skin crawling with fear. _There is no way he knows anything about you, stop breathing like that before you confirm anyone’s suspicions._ Her hands shook with relief when she realized he wasn’t talking about at her at all- his eyes, brown and mistrustful, were fixed on Lee and the old tea maker.

No one in the shop reacted, at first. Against all her instincts, Zohra stayed rooted to her spot near the side of the entrance; Liah seemed to be mirroring her reaction, staring at the scene before her with wide, fearful eyes, her mouth open in a soundless gasp.

“I _know_ they’re firebenders!” he announced again, taking another step forward- Zohra felt her nails dig into the soft flesh of Liah’s forearm, and her mouth exploded with the taste of copper as she bit down on her tongue, hard. “I saw the old man heating his tea!”

“He works in a tea shop!” a guard seated close to where Lee and the old tea maker stood retorted, his eyebrows knitted in confusion. Zohra’s brain registered the humor of this exchange- her mouth did not move to match.

“He’s a firebender, I’m telling you!” the boy shouted, again, his voice a notch more unhinged. _How_ could he have guessed that? Zohra felt instantly hateful towards him, and her palms itched as she thought of her own Dao, safely hung in her apartment- she could have taken this jerk down in a second if she had them with her.

“Drop your weapons, boy, nice and easy,” the guard said threateningly, standing up to restrain him. Liah let out a sigh of relief- Zohra watched stilly, with bated breath. She could see Lee shake in anger- why did their paths keep crossing in the most violent of ways?

“You’ll have to defend yourself,” the boy taunted, moving forward despite the guard’s command, clashing his swords menacingly. “Then everyone will know.” His back was to her and Liah now, and though she could no longer see his face, Zohra was sure he was smirking. Her palms itched again, and she reached for Liah’s hand to have something to hold on to. “Go ahead! Show them what you can do.”

“You want a show?” Lee snarled, taking the weapons from the guard who had spoken up before he could react, cleanly separating the dual Dao without hesitation. “ _I’ll_ give you a show.” He kicked a table towards the boy, who seemed to be grinning and scowling all at once, which a pair of hooked swords slashed through, easily. They carried on like this for several seconds, jumping all over the place and wrecking half the tables in the shop before Lee finally turned on the offensive, and lunged forward to push the boy out of the shop and into the street.

Zohra’s heart jumped to her throat, and she grabbed Liah’s sleeve to pull her aside, closer to the wall- the boy with the hooked swords was _good_ \- his moves seemed to be fueled by pure rage instead of any particular technique, and it was working out for him- Lee was keeping up, but Zohra could see the lines of effort etched out on his face, even through the clouded glass on the windows of the shop. The tea-maker the boy had accused clutched to the door frame, his face distorted with worry. He shouted, “Please son, you’re confused!” as Zohra pushed past him, her fingers still entwined with Liah’s who was pulled along helplessly. Zohra wrenched herself free, and craned her neck- she had to stop this. What if Lee actually did firebend, now? She didn’t trust herself to keep quiet if he did- she would have to help him, somehow- she fully believed, despite all evidence, that she was the one responsible for this mess.

She spotted Fei out of the corner of her eye at the end of the street, as he glided easily towards the commotion now, square jaw set in astonishment- their block wasn’t really known for violent brawls, and Fei had likely never seen one before. Zohra called out his name and waved towards him, pointing again at the two boys, who were still fiercely dueling with no signs of stopping. “Fei, hurry up!”

“What’s going on? Are you alright?” Zohra was dumbfounded for half a second- why was he asking _her_ if she was alright, when she was so clearly not the one who was about to get her head chopped off? She realized that Fei’s concern was directed at Liah, who paid even less attention to him than Zohra had- her gaze was still fixed on the two pairs of clashing swords.

Lee was thrown backwards into a vegetable cart, and was, for a moment, buried under its debris- Zohra’s mind suddenly felt unmistakably clear. She leaped forward, stupidly, between the two of them, her arms raised to throw a punch- why couldn’t she have kept at least _one_ weapon on her? Her mind raced with items that could have been used to smack the satisfied grin off the boy’s face- even the blunt, bloody cutting board would have been more useful than a pair of bony fists. She noticed a single Dao laying on the ground, where it had probably flown out of Lee’s grasp- she quickly picked it up in her right hand and her feet shifted automatically into a more stable stance, the lone sword thrust forward and two fingers of her free hand pointed up in a show of readiness. The boy scoffed at her, hair flying in a sudden breeze, his eyes still fixed on Lee as he struggled to extract himself from the smashed remains of the cart- Zohra took another step until she was blocking him from his view.

“What, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend now? A fire-scum sympathizer?” the boy sneered at the pile of wood behind her, chest heaving.

Blood rushed in her ears, drowning out all the noise for a second- just as quickly, she was brought back to Earth, and heard both Liah’s scream and Fei’s exclamation at the same time: “Zohra, stay out of it!“

“Fei, he’s the one that started it! You’re going to take the delinquent’s side?!” she shouted back, impressed at how her voice refused to shake.

“Get out of there, Zohra!” Liah screamed, pushing through the crowd that had suddenly thickened at the scene.

“Don’t take another step,” she gritted out, her heart hammering its way out of her chest. “You’re _insane.”_

The boy’s smirk turned into a scowl, as he refused to heed her warning- he raised his swords to attack. Before Zohra could make a move, Fei jumped into action; he lunged forward and, with alarming speed, sent a pair of stone hand flying towards the boy, which pinned him to the wall of the tea shop by his wrists. Lee had finally managed to free himself, and snatched the sword out of Zohra’s hands, refusing to look at her even as he stood close. Now firmly under the Dai Li’s grasp, the boy threw all his weight against his restraints, still shouting “They’re firebenders!” over and over- Zohra glanced towards Liah, who was staring at her in shock, green eyes wide.

“Right,” Fei said, trying to sound like he had any idea what he was doing. “Will someone explain _what_ happened here?”

The shop owner and several guards spoke up, and easily diffused the situation. As the boy with the hooked swords was dragged away by two senior Dai Li agents who seemed to have slinked out of the shadows, still screaming about the Fire Nation, Zohra let out a sigh; she was safe, and Lee was safe, for now. The guard from the tea shop helped him straighten up, and took the dual swords from him- he glanced curiously at Zohra, who had quietly walked away back towards Liah, but didn’t say anything.

“What were you _thinking?”_ Liah chastised, pulled her into a hug. Zohra’s head felt dizzy from the action- she didn’t know how to answer the question, since she was fully aware that she hadn’t been thinking at all. “Are you alright? You could have been seriously hurt, that guy was nuts!”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just- Fei wasn’t moving fast enough, and I don’t know, I panicked.”

Liah nodded, and didn’t comment further. She turned her head to look at Fei, who was talking to the two senior agents who had thrown the boy into the back of a carriage which was now speeding off. Zohra shuddered in sudden fear- the guy must have been deranged, but he probably didn’t deserve what the Dai Li were about to dish out to him.

As the crowd thinned out, leaving no one but the disgruntled looking Pao, his tea-maker and Lee outside the shop, Zohra glanced at him, sucking her cheekbones in worry; he stared back stolidly, pale gold eyes shining. His gaze shifted to Liah, whose back was now turned, as she talked to one of their neighbors who had just emerged to ask about the commotion. Zohra kept shifting her gaze towards him, begging to be seen- she needed to know what this was about. Lee looked none the worse for the wear- even after being thrown through the air and smashing a cart to pieces with just the impact, he still stood tall and impassive, his face uncovered by shadows for the first time since she had met him.

Suddenly, after a quick glance around, he mouthed ‘later’ at her, and stuck his thumb over his shoulder. Zohra glanced around too until she was certain they weren’t being watched, and nodded- her head was plagued again by thoughts that ran a mile a minute. She understood easily what he had meant: meet him later at the granary, same time as before.

Lee turned around sharply, and walked back towards the tea maker and Pao- as she turned around to look for Liah, Zohra realized that the two were probably related- why else would the other boy have thought they were _both_ firebenders? Images of his face kept flashing before her eyes- the crazed grin, the features that could have been handsome distorted by anger and paranoia- she took a deep breath to convince herself that she was out of danger, for the time being. Liah saw her approaching and linked arms with her, squeezing her shoulder before leading her back into their apartment, both of them too shaken to speak.

* * *

“Nephew-“

“Consider us _even,”_ he snarled at Uncle quietly, sweeping the debris inside the shop out through the open door. Pao had offered to pay them overtime if they cleaned up as much as they could, and promised he would hire extra laborers the next day to fix the shop back up. Zuko had been dizzy with relief- Pao had seemingly forgotten that his own employee was the one who wrecked half the tables, and didn’t seem keen to ask for reparations. Working with his hands was a chance to take out the left over aggression of the night that, if left unchecked, would have resulted in him blowing up at the next person to look in his direction.

Uncle didn’t respond, and Zuko knew that he had won this debate for good- they had both put each other in danger since they had reached Ba Sing Se, and Uncle’s slip up had almost had serious consequences. After tonight, Zuko’s misadventure with the Fire Nation girl seemed harmless- his stomach twisted in guilt when he remembered how she had thrown herself between him and Jet. It was stupid of her, as a _firebender_ , to hang around when someone as deranged as Jet was on the warpath, and especially not for him- Zuko hadn’t done anything for her to warrant her putting herself in danger like that.

Then he felt guiltier for not referring to her by her name.

His arms suddenly felt too heavy as the fatigue of the fight caught up with him, and he dropped the broom. As he flexed his fingers to get the feeling in his muscles back, Uncle picked the broom up for him and firmly pulled Zuko out of the shop, discarding his apron easily, telling Pao that they would be back early tomorrow to help out if he needed it. Zuko was thankful for his intervention, but refused to say it- he still hadn’t forgiven Uncle for rousing Jet’s suspicions in the first place.

As they walked back to an apartment that had yet to become a home, Zuko thought carefully of the events of the day. Not of the skirmish at the tea-shop, or what had followed- that, he was saving for later tonight- but of Uncle’s meeting with the representative of the White Lotus earlier that evening. He had been a tall, wiry Earth Kingdom teenager, fetched by the elderly man who seemed to _live_ in the hole carved out of the dead-end wall next to the tea shop. He was not allowed to sit in on the meeting, which he had expected- what he hadn’t expected was the representative looking so _happy_ about being approached with information that could land him in prison if he so much as whispered it into the wrong shadow. It was disconcerting watching him and Uncle calmly discuss delicate information in broad daylight, but the Lower Ring served as its own private room- everyone spent too much of their time trying to etch out a living to be bothered by two perfectly normal bystanders engaged in a quiet conversation. After they were done, the representative- who, probably as part of some stupid secret society pact, didn’t tell them his name- approached Zuko, his face breaking into a grin, and asked him if he would mind him asking a few questions. Before he could say a firm no, the boy had pulled him along, and waved at Uncle over his shoulder, promising to return his beloved nephew in a few minutes.

He wondered how much Uncle had told him about themselves. Zuko wasn’t sure he trusted the boy- his sharp, intelligent eyes seemed to pierce right through whatever they fell on, and he had definitely noticed, but didn’t seem to pay attention to Zuko’s scowl of mistrust. He talked easily about non-Order related things: the Dai Li’s monopoly on the city’s information system, the permeating stench of Lower Ring poverty, the battles that the Fire Nation refused to call off, despite so _obviously_ having won already. Zuko was surprised at how much he seemed to know about a war he had never been, and never would be exposed to. He might even have come close to opening his mouth to agree or argue a few times, until he recognized the girl who was approaching them- it was the pretty one from the day before at the tea shop, who had ordered the special mix tea. Zuko had almost jumped out of his skin when he heard her speak, until he realized her greeting was directed at the boy next to him, who spoke with her candidly, almost flirtatiously- did everyone in the neighborhood just _know_ each other? She had glanced at Zuko with curious green eyes, but he had already averted his gaze and refused to speak.

And he had seen her again, tonight, clutching Zohra’s arm; he had heard her voice as she had yelled out for her friend to get out of the thick of the fight. The Dai Li agent who had pinned Jet to the wall had called out her name, too- Zuko’s mouth felt dry when he realized that she wasn’t lying when she said she knew him, and was fully capable of turning him in; she still had the upper hand, especially after tonight.

Once they reached their apartment, Uncle finally spoke: “Zuko, I know how you must feel-“

“Good,” Zuko cut him off, flatly- he was in no mood to argue.

“I suppose she is the girl who tried to protect you-Zohra, was it?”

“Yes,” Zuko said, his stomach twisting again- he was glad he had skipped out on dinner.

“And you’re meeting her again?”

“Yes,” Zuko gritted out, a string of explanations ready on the tip of his tongue.

“That’s very noble of you, nephew.”

Zuko stared back at him, dumbfounded- Uncle’s disapproval of the situation he had landed himself in had been eating away a hole of guilt in his stomach, but he had still been ready to defend his decision further. “What?”

“She helped you when you were about to be taken down, and at great risk- she deserves your gratitude, at the very least.”

Zuko nodded, still too surprised to speak- he hadn’t expected Uncle to concede so easily, after a whole day of him chastising Zuko about how he needed to be more cautious, and slowly remove himself from the situation he had become entangled in. He carried on: “I think you should do what you think is right and tell her however much she needs to know.”

“Uncle, I know you won’t tell me, but I have to ask- what did the Order representative say?”

Uncle grimaced, and sighed slowly, folding his hands on his lap, eyes fixated on the threadbare rug beneath him. “I didn’t find out anything that could help us right now. The Order is powerful, but I no longer am- even if the information I requested was to find its way back to me, I’m not sure how much it can help, since we can’t…” he trails off.

Zuko averted his gaze- he knew what Uncle had stopped himself from saying out loud, and was grateful for it.

Uncle’s face broke into a smile as Zuko got up to find something to eat- his stomach had finally stopped flipping every few minutes, and he felt famished. “Remarkable,” Uncle said, staring into the distance.

“What?” Zuko muttered through a mouthful of hard bread.

“Her form was exquisite- strong stance, perfect posture, before she could even make a move." He paused, stroking his chin. "She stood exactly as you do.”

Zuko felt blood rise to his face. He was still not any good at accepting compliments, especially not on his swordsmanship- for too long, he had felt ashamed of it, felt that it was pathetic how easily a non-bending art came to him as his flames sputtered weakly on his fingertips and his control over the training candles felt too shaky in front of Azula’s. He decided to divert the attention to the girl who had rushed to protect him, instead.

“You should see her when she _does_ strike.”


	7. You Might Not Believe Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter with just one POV! Please review, they make my day and seriously help me improve my wriitng! All criticism/validation/any other kind of -ation is appreciated!

“Are you going to keep that on the whole time?”

Zuko stopped cold in his tracks- he was _sure_ he was the first to reach the granary this time. Zohra emerged from two steps to his left, her mouth set in victory that she had managed to surprise him again. As she crept closer to the entrance to let him in, he noticed that her footsteps seemed to naturally fall on whatever part of the ground was least likely to make a sound.

“I didn’t want to be recognized,” he replied quietly, motioning for her to open the door to let them in. He watched her as she quickly worked on the lock, which resembled a wooden box puzzle, the kinds which only clicked open when the correct combination was constructed with the beams; Zuko had always been privately fascinated by how ingenious some of these Earth Kingdom inventions were- there had never been anything like this in the Fire Nation.

Once they were inside and the door had been safely closed behind them, Zuko realized that Zohra didn’t have her Dao- he felt strangely guilty for bringing his own, now. As if reading his thoughts, she extracted a short kitchen knife from her sleeve, casually spinning it between her fingers- it was clear that she thought she could protect herself with it, if she needed to. Her left hand bore bloodstained, thin bandages covering the space between her thumb and index finger- his stomach swooped further down as he wondered if she had somehow sustained the injury when she had faced Jet. “I figured we should save our energy for whatever you’re about to tell me tonight.”

Zuko scowled behind the mask, taken aback at how hostile she sounded- the traces of concern that he had glimpsed on her face earlier that night were gone, and replaced with a look of indifference, almost boredom. “I don’t _have_ to tell you anything,” he said, regretting how harsh he sounded.

“You’re going to do this _now?”_ she scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest. “I almost saved your life tonight.”

“Overselling it,” he muttered; this was _not_ going the way he wanted it to go. “Did you think this was another transaction? You helped me, so now I owe you something?” Zuko felt his face burn- he _had_ come for that very reason, and was being hostile out of pure habit.

Color rose in her face, too, and her shoulders suddenly drooped. “I’m sorry- and before I put my foot in my mouth again, I want you to know- I’m calling off any threats I might have made.”

“What?”

“You know what I mean,” she said impatiently. “Whatever you’re about to tell me- I’m not forcing you to say it, and I won’t stop you if you leave right now.”

spoke before he could convince himself not to: “My name isn’t Lee.”

Her eyebrows shot upwards, as if _this_ was the most surprising thing he could have told her. “Okay.”

“I’m…from the Fire Nation.”

“I think we’re past that,” she said dryly, her stance relaxing as she stopped spinning the blade. “Why did that guy attack you? How did he know you were a firebender?”

He sighed, ripping the mask off his face- it didn’t matter anymore. “You might not believe me.”

The corners of her mouth curved upwards slightly. She sat easilg on a low, upturned crate, glancing at the entrance before saying, “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“I met him on the ferry to Ba Sing Se. We stole some food from the captain’s deck for dinner, and he asked me to join his team- he ran some vigilante ring of kids orphaned by the war, all set on destroying and looting as many Fire Nation camps and towns as they could- they got disbanded, and some decided to come here before they got caught. He asked me to join his group, when we reached port.” He paused to study her reaction to this- her eyebrows kept travelling up further and further into the hair cut across her forehead. “I said no.”

“I guess he didn’t take that well.”

“That’s not it- he noticed my uncle slip up, when he warmed his tea with firebending.”

“Your uncle,” she echoed, frowning in thought. “Is he the tea maker you were with? At Pao’s?”

“Yes,” Zuko said, biting his tongue- he wished he didn’t have to tell her about him at all, but he had no idea how to do that; everything that had happened to him was so inextricably linked to Uncle that Zuko could barely say two words about himself without the third one referring to his only confidante.

“And that boy with the hooked swords- do you know his name?”

“Jet.”

“Does he know anything about me?”

Zuko read between her words, understanding what she really wanted to ask: _Did_ you _tell him about me?_ “No, he doesn’t.”

“Okay.”

Zuko looked at her again; was she just bad at asking questions? He had been prepared to address real inquiries, not deliver a monologue. She finally asked, “When did you train with Master Piandao?”

“I started when I was eight.”

“What was he like?”

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch as his face fought a smile. “He’s a good teacher. Probably the best I’ve had.”

She stared back, tapping her fingers softly against her leg- it was a simple tune that reminded Zuko of something he might have heard Captain Jee or Uncle hum while on the top deck of their ship. Her eyes seemed distant, like she had forgotten why they were here in the first place- he decided to ask her a question of his own: “Where did you learn how to fight?”

She shrugged in response. Zuko recognized the look of forced indifference immediately, and waited for her to speak. “My father taught me.”

“He must be quite the swordsman,” Zuko said, cringing at how saccharine his words sounded.

She tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “He was _great."_

 _Was..._ “I’m sorry,” he said, looking away- he didn’t want her to think he was waiting for her to show a moment of weakness. She nodded in response, shrugging again- Zuko thought her shoulders were liable to fall off any moment if she kept forcing them to jerk upwards unnaturally.

She shook her head suddenly before fixing her eyes on his again, and asking, “Why are you here? In Ba Sing Se?”

“I ran- I’m running away,” he said, jaw set.

She frowned, a line of confusion creasing her forehead. “Why?”

He didn’t know if he has it in him to explain everything to her- telling her about Father setting Azula out to imprison him, which would require telling her about his failure at the North Pole, which meant he would have to explain about his quest to find the Avatar, which would inevitably also force him to tell her about the banishment, and the Agni Kai, and his mother leaving-

“It’s okay,” she said gently, her features softening. “You don’t have to…you know.”

He nodded at her, looking away. He had come here, determined to repay a debt, tell her everything she wanted to know, and he was _failing_ \- the words refused to leave his mouth.

“I guess,” she said, splaying her fingers out in front of her and studying them carefully- Zuko could tell she was thinking about her bending- “I should tell you- about why I’m here, and not in the Fire Nation.”

Zuko nodded, and finally sat down opposite her, wincing as he heard a badger-rat scamper away. The patch of floor he had chosen was clean, save for a dusting of pale yellow flour that seemed to coat every surface in the building.

She took a deep breath, not quite meeting his gaze. “My parents were both from the outer islands- I think it was a fishing village. She frowned, her face scrunching up in remembrance, and said, “Or maybe a mining town- Dad didn’t like talking about it. He was recruited by the army, worked his way up to captain in an elite non-bender security force- they’d be dispatched to new colonies to crush out rebellions before they could take place.”

Zuko was vaguely aware of which battalion she was talking about- he definitely remembered learning about the non-bending units of the army, how they were some of the most strategic, fearless soldiers the Fire Nation had. He nodded at her to continue.

“He was sick of it, after a few years, of the whole war. He couldn’t _give up_ active duty in the Fire Nation without consequences, but my mother died a few months after I was born, and once she was gone, he said he didn’t have anyone left there that he cared about. So, he ran- took me with him. We travelled around the Earth Kingdom, a lot- tried to lose whatever trail he had on him, until he thought they might have given up on him.”

Zuko studied her as she talked- her mouth disappeared as she sucked in her cheekbones. “I don’t have any other family, none that I know how to contact, anyway- Dad grew up in an orphanage; Mom’s family had stopped talking to her when she married below her station.” She pulled her legs closer towards her, resting her chin on her knees. “Dad passed away three months ago, and I came here when the Fire Nation army took over the town we had been living in the last couple of years.” She suddenly seemed to be very interested in her fingernails, tilted her head downwards until all Zuko could see was a shock of shiny black hair.

He bit back another _I’m sorry_ \- an apology would sound worse than the silence. He was relieved that she didn’t seem to expect a response just yet, as she still stared intently at her hands, her face frozen in an impassive glare.

He waited for her to look up again, before asking, “How do you know Master Piandao?”

“I don’t,” she said, her voice half a pitch higher. “My father was his apprentice, when he was training for his battalion. They were good friends, too- Dad talked about him all the time. He considered telling him when he decided to run away, but he figured it would be safer if no one knew.”

“Is that how you could tell I trained with him?” Zuko asked, thoroughly impressed- she must have been even better than he thought she was, if she could recognize Piandao’s technique despite never having learned from him herself.

“Yeah,” she said, her face softening into a genuine smile. “Dad started me off when I was really young- he used to say I could throw a shuriken right on the target before I lace up my shoes.”

“You know how to throw shuriken?” Zuko said, as his thoughts drifted to Mai and sunny afternoons in the palace secretly watching her take aim at every tree in the courtyard until Azula noticed him watching- he couldn’t imagine two people from more separate worlds.

She smirked suddenly, and responded by twisting around nonchalantly and throwing her knife at the wall behind her, where it took hold neatly in the miniscule crack between two wooden boards- Zuko let out a snort at her boasting. She turned around and said, “Yeah, but I always knew I would end up with the dual Dao- that’s what Dad preferred, too.”

As he opened his mouth to reply, she interrupted him: “What’s your real name? You said it wasn’t Lee.” She abruptly sprang up and yanked the knife out of the wall, spinning it between her fingers as she waited for him to answer.

He paused, trying to remember the last time he had said it out loud- it was the dusty evening in that wretched village, where he had tried to protect the real Lee from those Earth Kingdom thugs- and been rejected, cast out as soon as he had. “Zuko.”

“Zuko,” she echoed, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly.

He crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded. She seemed suddenly more at ease- as if Zuko revealing his name, even though it was hardly the whole truth, had somehow broken the spell of secrecy both of them carried around with them. 

“Did you ever have a master? Someone to train you?” he asked.

“No. I picked up a few things from travelling Fire Nation circuses, sometimes- they’d always need help from the forge, for their show weapons and animals, and Dad never let me firebend at all, but he said I could watch them practice. I learned a few breathing techniques for restraint, dousing flames in case they got too big around me, how to control outbursts in anger- small stuff like that.”

“I see.”

He frowned, running his finger lightly against the cloth-bound edges of his Dao. He figured he might as well get to his point, now. “Look, I wanted to thank you, for tonight- it was stupid of you to do that, but I’m grateful. I know said I’d think about helping you out, but…I can’t. Firebending attracts too much attention, and I don’t think I could teach you more than you already know. I’m sorry.”

Her shoulders dropped in disappointment- she stroked the bandages on her hand, disappointment quickly replaced with a look of concentration. “Why were you talking to Wuei, today?”

“Who?”

Her eyes flashed in annoyance, and her hands curled up into fists. “What else are you hiding from me?”

Zuko stared back in bewilderment- was she mad about him refusing to teach her? “What? I-“

“No offense, but I just told you everything that could get me landed in prison- I hear the Dai Li aren’t exactly chummy with rogue firebenders loose within the inner walls.”

He sighed, bringing his knuckles up to his face- his hands brushed the wrinkled, velvety surface of his healed scar. “Enough with the threats; I get it, you’re friends with an agent.”

“That’s not… I thought _you_ were- _ugh,_ you’re so _paranoid,”_ she sputtered, her brows knitting. “Look, I thought you called me here to, I don’t know, settle a score- not for half truths about yourself that I’m supposed to connect together on my own.”

“I know,” he gritted out. “But you won’t like what I tell you- it’s safer if-“

“Shut _up,”_ she hissed, - Zuko sat up straighter in surprise at her outburst. “I’m _not_ safe- anywhere I go, I’ll _never_ be able to stop looking over my shoulder. I finally find someone who feels the same way, and you still think you’re _protecting_ me by not telling me the truth?!”

He glanced around, nervously; her outburst had disturbed the vermin lurking in the corners, and the whole place seemed to violently chatter for a few seconds before calming down. Zuko’s gaze fell on the oil lamp, which still burned weakly, unaffected. Zohra noticed him looking at it, scoffed, and said, “Forget it. This was pointless- I just gave you too much leverage over me, and you’re obviously not going to tell me anything more- let’s just call this off.”

Her anger seemed to spur something inside him, and before he knew it, he was blurting the next words out: “I’m the Firelord’s son.”


	8. Products of Exile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zohra only POV for a conversation that neither of them really wanted to have. Please review, I love to see them!! And let me know what you think of the story so far, so I have a reason to keep writing it!!!
> 
> EDIT: there were some semi major changes to this chapter, please reread if you’ve read already!

“ _What?_ ”

He fixed her with a steely glare, jaw set in resolution- he didn’t look like he was lying, but how could _this_ be the truth?

“You heard me.”

“No, that’s imposs- why are you really here?”

“I was banished,” he said, teeth still gritted.

She ignored this for now, plowing on. “But- that would make you Fire Nation royalty.”

“Yes,” he said dryly, his voice as hollow as hers.

“And you’re here- in the Lower Ring, in Ba Sing Se.”

He didn’t bother responding- Zohra knew it was stupid to rub it in his face, but she had thought that saying it out loud would, maybe, quell the awkwardness and sheer lunacy of the revelation.

The silence stretched on for several seconds, as Zuko- _Prince_ Zuko- looked at her, daring her to speak. Zohra had no idea about who, and what, the royal family was- Dad hadn’t known much himself, since only benders served under the royal generals. All she could remember was that, several years ago, the crown prince had laid siege to Ba Sing Se, and became the first Fire Nation general to break through the outer walls. She vaguely remembered his title, too- everywhere her and Dad travelled, people never stopped talking about the fearsome Dragon of the West, even after the Fire Nation had withdrawn from the seige. But, that couldn’t have been Zuko; he would have been a child, just like her in those uncertain days when the Earth Kingdom was on the brink of collapse. She remembered how chaotic the travelling forge had become, as every single person who came across it seemed to be stockpiling heavy weapons for self-defense in case the Fire Nation army decided to raid their towns for loot once the resources ran out at the siege.

Zuko’s eyes were narrowed- she figured she should say something before the silence threatened to consume them both, and whispered the only coherent sentence that would form in her mind: “Is your father- is the Firelord the one who held the siege here? At Ba Sing Se?”

His face scrunched up in an expression that rested halfway between anger and disgust, and he replied through gritted teeth, “No- that was my uncle.”

The muscles in her face felt frozen, stiff- she couldn’t frown deeper, anymore. “Uncle…you mean the one who-“

“Yeah,” he said, sighing. “The tea maker.”

“Let me get this straight- your Uncle, the Dragon of the West, who came closer than anyone else to breaking through the walls of _this city,_ is now living here, incognito, in the Lower Ring- as a _tea maker?”_

He sighed, wearily. “Yes.”

Zohra burst out laughing, raising her elbow to her face to muffle the sound- she didn’t know what else to do. “Wow.”

“That’s it?” he asked, incredulous. His good eye widened in surprise, the whites showing all the way around, which made her laugh even harder- she bit down on her uninjured hand to keep herself from waking up half the street. “That’s all you have to say? _Wow?”_

She shrugged, her shoulders still quivering as she forced down her glee- it was better to take it in stride than question the strangeness of the universe anymore. “I know you’re not a very good liar,” she said, feeling her face break into a grin that Zuko- _Prince Zuko-_ looked thoroughly unnerved by. “I still have more questions, if you’ll answer them.”

He crossed his arms over his chest again, his scowl almost morphing into a pout of annoyance. “Go ahead.”

“Why are you and your uncle in Ba Sing Se? Is there, like…a _bounty_ on your head?”

He looked strangely impressed- was she actually right about that? “Sort of- it’s not like you’ll get a prize for turning me in, though.”

Her heart sank in disappointment at the idea of him even _thinking_ that she might turn against him, after all that had happened. She looked up quickly to apologize, and almost fell back in surprise when she noticed he was _smiling_. Half of his mouth had curved up wryly- it almost made him look like the weight of the world wasn’t resting at a fine point on his chest. She started to laugh again, no longer bothering to hide how giddy she felt with fear, bewilderment, and abject delight that she was sitting in her decrepit workplace, in the middle of the night, two feet away from Fire Nation _royalty_.

“I’m sorry, I just-“ she giggled, as Zuko looked on, his smile slowly fading into a look of weariness again. “I don’t even know where to start _,_ or _how_ to start. Maybe I should sleep on it, compile a whole questionnaire and then practice my prostration, _your Highness.”_

 _“_ Shut up,” he muttered, red-faced, his half-smile gone as soon as it had come. “This isn’t funny.”

“Yes, it is,” she retorted, lightheaded. “Do you seriously not see how bizarre this is? You’re a _prince._ ”

“Yeah, well- it doesn’t mean much, anymore.”

The night grew stiller- she felt the weight of his words push against her, wiping the weak smile off her face. “Why were you banished?”

He didn’t answer, fixing her with a hard glare, plainly stating that he didn’t want to talk about it- she opened her mouth to apologize, but closed it again when she saw his moving, voice almost inaudible.

“I spoke out of turn at a war meeting.” He turned his head to the side, until all she could see was the pale red scar, stretching from eye to ear. 

She felt instantly guilty. “You don’t have to-“

“There’s no point in keeping it from you anymore,” he said, voice entirely flat. Her stomach swooped further downwards, but he didn’t give her a chance to stop him. “I interrupted a general’s strategy- it was show of disrespect. The Firelord said it had to be settled with an Agni Kai.”

 _Fire Duel_ \- Zohra didn’t know much about bending, or about the Fire Nation, but she knew about the fights for honor that usually ended with one of the duelers’ death- or severe injury, at the very least _._ Her heart dropped and seemed to nestle in the base of her stomach, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear the rest- his scar was the only part of his face she could see right now.

“I remember, I knew- I was sure that I was right-“he cut himself off, pausing for several seconds. When he spoke again, it was with the cautious, measured tone of someone who had changed their mind about what they wanted to say mid sentence; Zohra noticed the shift in his demeanour, but declined to comment- he didn’t owe her anything, and she couldn’t expect more than he had already decided to reveal. “I lost, obviously.”

Her throat had gone dry; even if she wanted to, she couldn’t have stopped him from finishing- his scar still peered at her from under a shock of uneven black hair, and Zohra knew, instinctively, that it was a mark of his failure in the sacred duel of his- _their_ great nation _._

“Zuko, it’s-“

“By losing the duel, I had lost my honor, too- I wasn’t fit to be the crown prince anymore.”

Zohra’s mouth was open in a soundless gasp- her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, and if her hands hadn’t been frozen into fists since he had said the words _Agni Kai,_ she was sure she would have reached out to comfort him. She wanted to stop him, but he was speaking faster now, his words jumbling together through a hoarse whisper.

“Father said that exile was the only punishment fit for me, and my only chance of redemption was to capture the Avatar- he was the greatest remaining threat to the Fire Nation’s victory. As soon as I was out of the infirmary, I was sent away- Uncle accompanied me.”

“But, the Avatar-“

“Had been missing for nearly a hundred years,” Zuko finished, finally turning his face to look at her. “He’s back, now.”

Liah’s words from the night before drifted to the front of her mind- _he’s in the Upper Ring, of course._ Is _that_ why Zuko was here, in Ba Sing Se? Was he on some undercover mission to hunt down the Avatar, his only hope for returning home, who was two sets of walls beyond him at this very moment? She brought her hands up to her temples to stop her head from spinning off her neck- she knew, immediately, that it was too early to reveal that she knew anything about the Avatar at all- she didn’t want to be responsible for the consequences, whatever they might be. Besides, she didn’t even know if he was still on his quest- maybe he had abandoned it, which was why he had come to the city full of people with nowhere else to go.

“How long…“ she began, trailing off- she didn’t want to say the word banishment out loud- it felt too similar, too close for comfort. She had always seen herself as a product of exile, too- as far as she knew, she had no claims to return home once her father had been branded a traitor; after his death she had no one to turn to, nowhere to call home, and nothing to be done about it.

“Three years.”

“Three years,” she echoed- her voice seemed to be emanating from a distance. She didn’t want to believe him- it seemed impossibly cruel to inflict a punishment like this for the simple act of speaking out when he wasn’t supposed to. She was hit with the same feeling again, that he wasn’t revealing the whole truth- but she didn’t know how to, and frankly, didn’t want to ask about it. 

He didn’t speak for a moment, his gaze now fixed at some point past his shoulder. The scowl on his face didn’t, _couldn’t_ hide the sheer look of helplessness in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” she rasped out, fists still clenched, shoulders up to her ears in anxiety. “You can stop- please.”

The granary was silent again for a few minutes- Zohra focused on her breathing in the mean time, trying to calm her inner fire as it raged away in the pit of her stomach, begging for an outlet for her fury- he had half his face burned off, and as if that weren’t enough, his father had exiled him with no hope of return until he fulfilled a quest that had, until a few months ago, been entirely hopeless, all when he was a _child._

“You’re doing it wrong,” he said suddenly, his voice no longer hollow. “Don’t try to hold your breath in between inhaling and exhaling- it should flow through you fluidly. Don’t think about it so hard.”

She frowned, and tried to follow his instructions- it worked almost immediately, and she let out a sigh in relief. Had she really been _breathing_ wrong her whole life? “Thanks.”

He nodded, fingers tapping against his Dao again, averting his gaze. They fell into silence again, as Zohra thought about his quest for the Avatar, and what it would mean for the rest of the world; if the Fire Nation was able to capture him, then they were out of all hope- the war would rage on until the Earth Kingdom was entirely colonized. And, if rebellion grew- as it inevitably would when people were robbed of their land- the Fire Nation would just double down on their cruelty, as they had done before. The Avatar would be reborn eventually, into the Water Tribes, and they would face the same fate as the Air Nomads- on and on, until there was nothing left to save.

She wondered if he knew this, and if that was why he was living in Ba Sing Se as a refugee. Maybe he had given up on his quest once he realized that the Avatar was the only one who could end the war, which had caused him the same kind of misery it had caused the rest of the world.

She looked up at the waning moon through the ventilation gaps in the roof, and tried to determine how much time had passed since they had been in this granary, spilling the kind of information that would render both of them utterly defenseless in every part of the world- the Earth Kingdom would imprison or kill them for being from the Fire Nation; the Fire Nation would imprison or kill them for some form of treason- whether it was unjustly inflicted like the scar on Zuko’s face, or an unfortunate, unasked for inheritance like hers. She thought wryly about making a run for it towards the poles, finding refuge in the Water Tribes- maybe dying in a cold, sunless land was easier than other options.

“That’s why,” he said suddenly, interrupting her ]thoughts, “I said it would be safer if you didn’t know any of it.”

She looked at him, head cocked to the side. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded imperceptibly, his face stony.

“Are you looking for the Avatar here, in Ba Sing Se?”

He hesitated, forehead crinkling. “No.”

“Then why-“

“Later,” he said tersely. “I’m tired.”

She nodded vigorously, biting her tongue- she didn’t want to push him, anymore, even as a hundred other questions bubbled away in her mind. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, exhausted.

Zohra thought about it, and didn’t have an answer to that question- she felt a smile, empty and listless, tug at the corner of her lips. “That’s what people say, isn’t it? That’s what _you_ said, too _.”_

He snorted, his face relaxing into a look of resignation- it was an improvement over the scowl of anger and helplessness he had been wearing for so long. “Sure.”

She glanced towards the entrance of the granary, wondering how she was ever going to walk back in here with a straight face for work. Zuko noticed her looking, and stood up, strapping his Dao to his waist. “We should go- we’ve been in here too long.”

“Okay,” she said, dazed- since when had he snatched control of this space from her? She tried to stand up, but staggered backwards unexpectedly- her legs had fallen asleep. Zuko reached forwards and grabbed her wrist, his eyes trained on her messy bandages.

“What’s that?” he said, still looking at her bandaged hand- his own was calloused and warm against her skin. Two nights and several lifetimes ago, the same fingers on the same wrist had felt unnaturally hot, unfamiliar, frightening- now, they were the only thing stopping her from crashing backwards into a pile of rotting wooden crates. 

“Huh?” she said distractedly, flexing her toes and ankles to get the feeling back- her shabby sandals were held together by even shabbier stitching, and threatened to fall off feet as she impatiently stomped, careful not to make too much noise. “Oh, this- I, uh, cut myself- chopping mushrooms,” she said sheepishly, color rising in her face- it was embarrassing to admit that the same knife she had boastfully thrown right at an invisible target in the wall behind her had bested her when she used it to cut vegetables.

The frown of worry melted off his face, and he blinked in surprise. “Oh.”

She motioned for him to let her go once her legs stabilized- her heart was hammering away in her chest, and her feet still buzzed from fresh circulation- she couldn’t feel solid ground beneath her anymore. “Thanks.” After a brief pause, where neither of them seemed to be willing to look at each other, she asked, “What now?”

He glanced up at the ceiling, lips moving soundlessly for a moment. “Like I said- later.”

Relief flooded her chest- she hadn’t realized how badly she had wanted to see him again. “Okay. Here?”

“No,” he said, running a hand through soft hair, now damp with sweat. “I want you to meet my uncle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: so...Zuko lied about why he was banished, I sort of imagined it would take him longer to opening up about smth like that. It’ll come soon!! Let me know if you guys think this was a good creative decision, all reviews are valid and appreciated!


	9. Honey, It's You He's After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter, just some character building for your fave OC. Please review, I love to see them. I promise the next chapter will be MUCH longer and contribute WAY more to the story than this one- I just think it was important to devote a chapter to Zohra's thought process and why she feels the way she does.

“Are you listening to me?”

She grunted in response, eyes burning behind half-open lids. “Yes.”

“You’re so spaced out,” Liah grumbled, rummaging in her chest of drawers- it took all of Zohra’s energy to not slump back into bed. “I said that I have an overnight shift at the Chu’s.”

“You’ve never done that before,” Zohra mumbled, massaging her face with her fists. She had her day off for the week- she needed, desperately, to sleep off the exhaustion of the past three nights.

Liah didn’t reply- Zohra could sense her frown from the back of her head, but didn’t push further. “When will you be back?”

“Early- tomorrow.”

“Hmm, okay. Have fun.”

Liah turned around and rolled her eyes, a cloth bag hanging off her elbow- a handy device for smuggling back something semi-expensive to pawn off, or a choice cut of meat, which for now served only as a vehicle for a day’s change of clothes. “Hey,” she said suddenly, her frown morphing into a look of concern. “Are you okay…after last night?”

Zohra struggled to remember which part of it Liah was talking about. “What, the fight at the tea shop?” she asked, shrugging as nonchalantly as she could- she had already decided that she would not think about more meetings with _any_ members of the Fire Nation royal family until she was forced to. Her head throbbed whenever she thought too hard about what Zuko had told her, and her stomach tied itself into knots at the thought of reliving another painful revelation.

She was doubly anxious at the thought of not knowing when or where he was going to meet her again- so far, she had been the one in charge of arranging a rendezvous, and Zuko had always complied, albeit grumpily- he had always _let_ her have the upper hand, and the thought of him snatching her position of very relative power over him by being the one to pick a time and a place set her teeth on edge. On top of that, he had said he wanted her to meet his Uncle, which made her even more nervous on its own; _how_ was one supposed to act in front of Fire Nation royalty? His uncle was the Dragon of the West- the most fearsome general of the Fire Nation, whose name inspired shudders and grimaces from even the most seasoned of veterans in the Earth Kingdom. She knew Zuko was royalty too, and meeting him should have had the same effect of breath-catching nervousness in her, but he was approachable- well, not exactly, but as approachable as a disgraced former prince with a scar mutilating half his face could be. Also, she had technically already met him under the guise of two different, decidedly non-princely aliases; his uncle, who existed in her mind as a prince, a general, and a benevolent being who accompanied his nephew on a hopeless mission for (what she assumed had to be) moral support, was sure to be an entirely different beast.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pretending to still be too sleepy to answer Liah’s inquiry in a timely manner, as she firmly pushed thoughts of what was sure to be the most _stressful_ meeting of her life out of her mind. “Of course I’m fine- your boyfriend swooped in with the scary Dai Li earthbending before I could do anything.”

Liah’s entire body broke out in a fit of laughter. “Wouldn’t that make him _your_ boyfriend, if he saved you?”

“He’s a cop, I think helping me was part of his job description more than anything else. Besides, remember how he asked if _you_ were okay while two teenagers tried to slice each others’ head off right in front of him?”

“Shut up, ugh, I can’t even _imagine._ ”

“Face it, honey, it’s you he’s after,” Zohra said, hiding a peal of laughter behind a forced grimace- her head seemed to be full of smoke, but it was worth it to bite out a coherent jab to see the look of discomfort on Liah’s face.

“ _Honey,”_ Liah scoffed, shaking her head in mock disapproval. Her face suddenly twisted in a smirk- it was a look Zohra knew well, and she shrank back from the words she knew she was about to be smacked in the face with. “You don’t get to tease me- you almost got yourself stabbed for a guy just because he was cute.”

”Not true,” she said flatly, firmly putting a lid on her inner flame until it ran cold to stop a blush from creeping up her neck.

”Which part is a lie? That you almost got stabbed, or that he was cute?”

She refused to respond to that one. ”See you tomorrow, Liah.”

Satisfied with her victory, Liah blew a kiss towards her as she turned to leave- Zohra flicked the air in front of her as a show of rejection, which only resulted in a louder laugh from her friend and a wave goodbye, which she did return, as sincerely as she could.

Zohra was grateful for the uncharacteristically cold morning air- she nestled back into bed, desperately hanging on to the last tendrils of sleep before her anxiety over last night’s revelations forced her awake against her will. She drifted in and out of dreams she couldn’t remember until she awoke several hours later as the sun approached midday, with the tension in her body finally eased.

Sitting on the lower edge of her bed, she peeked out of the crooked window facing Pao’s tea shop as she squinted through the open front door, wondering if she could spot the banished prince playing the part of a server- she recognized him as soon as he came into view, all tense shoulders and bowed head, his back to the entrance now as he served the table closest to the door. He moved as apprehensively lugging trays full of steaming cups of tea and food as he did when gripping the handles of a pair of dual swords.

Zohra watched him until he walked away beyond her line of sight, fascinated- what kind of life had he lived in the last three years? There were too many gaps in his story her own imagination could not help but fill in- she couldn’t stop thinking about a smaller, shriller version of him traipsing the world on the hunt for a legend that people had stopped having hope in a generation ago; how had he done it? And, why was he here now, in the city of walls and secrets; when and why had he given up on returning home? And his uncle, the decorated war hero (at least, on his side of the atlas)- had he accompanied Zuko out of pity, loyalty, or love? Zohra knew he couldn’t have been ordered to follow an exile unless he was banished himself, but something about that didn’t ring true- she had a hard time believing that the Firelord could get away with banishing two potential candidates for the throne without facing at least some consequences. 

Consequences- like the ones Dad was terrified of facing when he ran away from the Fire Nation; consequences for disrespecting their great country, their mighty army, their supreme royal house, and the eternal flame of Agni. All her life, Zohra had been raised to fear the world when it was stupid not to- a pair of swords was no defense against a century of violence, and the quicker you learned that running away was not always dishonorable, the longer you would survive to see another day, to fight when it would make a difference. Dad had tried to give her a better life, and Zohra was sure that he wouldn’t have done it without good reason- how cruel could the Fire Nation have been, if her pragmatic, loving father thought a life lived in total secrecy, in denial of his past and his heritage, and of his daughter’s bending, was any better than continuing on the way he had been for years?

Her body felt cold- her inner flame was unnaturally pulsating at the soles of her feet, begging to be seen, heard, let out.

Did Zuko’s chest also collapse in on itself when he thought of what his country had put him through?

She rolled out of bed until she was lying on her side on the floor, wincing as a million tiny splinters of wood stuck to her balmy, bare legs. She felt listless, her breathing forcibly even, drifting into a part of her mind that she had managed to avoid since she had reached this forsaken, ugly city- since she had grasped at straws to make a precarious existence for herself among crowds of refugees just like her, cautiously befriended people who could comfortably talk about nothing with her, or force a wry laugh past her lips.

For most of her life, Zohra had tried to exist on pure apathy- she could only smile, _really_ smile without trepidation, when she talked to Dad or mastered a new move with a new type of blade, and she had been perfectly fine with it. Brief moments of joy made up for a lack of stability, a lack of overarching happiness and contentment, and she was _fine_ with it, had always been fine with it. So what, if she couldn’t ever have a place to call home; so what, if the Fire Nation’s cruelty had destroyed so much; so what, if smoke curled from her hands when she did have to think about it, when she faced people who had suffered so much more than she had? And so what, if Dad’s loss had eaten away a hole in her heart so big that the armor of indifference she had worn to the rest of the world had collapsed, and she had started to feel like an empty vessel, unable to even _want_ to stop feeling lost?

So what, if she was in a city that didn’t care about her; living with a girl who could, and _would,_ stop caring about her if she ever found out the truth; lying on an unpolished floor, forcing herself to breathe before she could forget how to?

_Don’t think about it so hard._

Zuko's voice echoed in her head, low and steady- her chest exploded with warmth when she managed to feed her inner fire just so it burned steadily, no longer crying to be let out- she heaved a sigh of relief, finally peeling herself off the ground, her stomach flipping from hunger.

She’d have to thank him, separately, for that one.


	10. Bound (By Social Convention)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW this one took me a while. PLEASE review and point out any mistakes if you find them, I stress-edited this at 3 am and have no idea what i'm doing anymore. (Reviews stating your appreciation are also equally valued) thank you to all the people who are still reading this! We're in it for the long haul, so I'm really hoping you're enjoying the story so far.

Iroh watched the girl slink silently into the teashop at the busiest hour of the day through the serving window separating the teashop from the kitchen, her head ready to whip over her shoulder. He noticed her take the smallest table at the very corner of the shop, chin resting on hands propped up on her elbows, fingers wrapped around most of her face to make her features indistinguishable. His eyes slowly registered the still visible marks of Fire Nation ancestry- amber eyes slightly darker than his own, widow’s peak, straight hooked nose- nothing too noticeable, certainly not in a city as diverse as Ba Sing Se, but he was sure she would immediately be taken for a local if they were on the islands.

He could sense her inner flame too, as he had trained himself to notice other firebenders’- it had come in handy when he restarted Zuko on the basics after his banishment. It pulsated away steadily, indicating at least a novice’s level of control, but spiked up curiously when he saw his nephew approach her now with an air of forced boredom.

When she moved her hands to talk to Zuko, who pretended to take her order as listlessly as he did every other customer’s, Iroh could see that her face was heart shaped, chin strong and decisive- auspicious, his mother would have called it. He smiled, in spite of himself- Zuko seemed to have regained some semblance of control and purpose since he had started to devote his time to this new mission.

Of course, this mission was still hopeless, almost as hopeless as his previous one to capture the Avatar- but it was certainly not as self-destructive. Zuko had returned the previous night from his meeting with an air of determination, and calmly told Iroh what he thought they should do. To him, it seemed obvious that she could go back to the Fire Nation- he told him about her father’s abandonment of his post, which had made Iroh wince; an unpleasant memory of being forced to imprison his own soldiers when they tried to flee the siege of this very city brought itself to the front of his mind. He was aware, without Zuko having to say it, that he would have been branded a traitor in the infantry, a title that was impossible to lose once it had been bestowed. Zuko was unfazed- he said that she certainly wouldn’t be viewed with the same label, and could easily be escorted back.

Iroh hadn’t bothered to correct his use of the word _escorted_ \- it was easier, for now, to let Zuko hang on to the fast-unraveling string of hope that he could return home, too. His nephew hadn’t slept in days- sending him on another train of helplessness would do nothing to calm his mind.

He had gently voiced his concerns- that it would be extremely difficult to arrange such a journey undetected, even with the resources of the Order, and that Piandao or anyone from the Fire Nation could do little to help him. Zuko had waved it off, as he so often did when major technical flaws got in the way of what he wanted- they would figure it out, as they had figured out how to sneak into Ba Sing Se, complete with fake identities.

Zuko had guiltily admitted to telling the girl everything- what everything was, he did not specify, and Iroh saw through his lie by omission immediately. But, no matter- she had proven herself trustworthy enough to not turn them in, and that was good enough for him. It personally did not bother him that she knew of two disgraced members of the royal household posing as workers in a teashop in the Lower Ring- what did intrigue him, however, was whatever warped version of events Zuko would have told her about the Avatar, his banishment and his scar. As far as he knew, his nephew had never dared to speak of the incident to anyone but him- if he had talked about the Agni Kai, no matter how distorted the version of it the girl had heard, he would be immensely impressed that Zuko had opened up at all.

Once Zuko was done telling him of his conversation from the previous night and his choppy, unfinished plan for the girl’s return to the Fire Nation, Iroh had suggested, quietly, that it was possible that Zohra might not agree to it; how could she feel at ease in a land where she knew no one? She had admitted that she had no family she knew of- she would still be a refugee in a foreign land, one that would probably feel more hostile than even this city. Zuko had staunchly refused to answer for a few minutes, but eventually found an unhelpful explanation for that, as well- she could be sent first to Master Piandao, who would no doubt help her get settled.

Iroh had sighed in defeat; he knew Zuko idolized the sword master in a way that only the most devoted of pupils could, but he was being utterly foolish. Piandao did not know this girl, even if he knew her father- he was generous, but it was too much to expect him to take her under his wing with the Avatar back and the Fire Nation more tense at the prospect of defeat than it had been in decade. But, of course, Zuko hadn’t listened- he didn’t know how to, not when he had made up his mind like this.

In the end, Iroh had told his nephew to trust his instinct- he had observed, after three years of living with Zuko, that he could stubbornly refuse to recognize his true destiny even as it slapped him in the face like a startled puffer eel snatched from the waves. Perhaps this turn of events would be another call to the future he knew, in the deepest recesses of his soul, that Zuko could achieve- a life free from the strife of his family and nation’s crushing expectations. Maybe focusing on this new mission would show him the truth of his fate in a new way- Iroh wasn’t sure how he would reach it, but he was prepared to help, as he had always been.

If nothing else, he was glad Zuko had someone to talk to- even if their conversations were composed entirely of threats, bargains, treason, and forbidden bending practices in the most heavily guarded city in the world. 

It also didn’t hurt that he had the slightest hint surprise and admiration in his eyes and when he recounted her expert moves with a set of Dao that matched his own.

He had the same look on his face now as the girl stalked out, a half eaten slice of cake in hand, leaving behind the two former Fire Nation crown princes lost in their own thoughts as customers shouted for their attention.

* * *

“We’re lucky it’s raining.”

A flash of lightning and a gentle rumble of thunder followed her words. Zuko scowled, wiping his brow to see clearer. He hadn’t been prepared for it; the weather hadn’t changed at all in the past few days, and the rain itself felt _different_. It was unbearably loud but fell sporadically, sometimes slowing down to a noisy drizzle before swelling back up into a downpour. He’d battled heavy storms on most of the seas, and the abrupt summer showers of the Fire Nation that were celebrated despite the destruction they brought to the smaller villages, but this was entirely different, so much _worse_ ; the air was muggy and dizzying, almost warmer than it had been during the daylight; even the large, misshapen drops themselves felt heated against his skin.

Zohra seemed undisturbed by the rain, and elated at being out before the curfew had begun, no longer needing to worry about being caught. She had a thin woolen hood on that protected her face from most of the water, and Zuko noted that she carried an air of forced nonchalance, shoulders thrown back and mouth set in an empty half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I assume you’re going to be mysterious for as long as possible.”

He didn’t bother responding- she seemed to read his silences well enough.

“Did you tell your uncle about me- about my father?”

He nodded, braced for righteous indignation on her end. She simply shrugged, expertly weaving through the narrow alley, hood dripping wet, and said, “That’s good. I didn’t want to talk about it again.”

She sidestepped a puddle, sandals squelching on the damp cobblestone, head poised against the rain. For the first time, Zuko allowed himself to look at her with his mind unclouded by hostility or apprehension: under the dull lamps that illuminated the street, he could see that she had a heart shaped face- full cheekbones, rounded forehead, chin tapered to a point. In the Fire Nation, her features would have been called auspicious, a sign of good fortune- but to him they looked deceptively soft, unsuited to a piercing gaze and sharp brow. The hair bluntly cut across her forehead had become damp from the rain, and stuck down childishly on her skin like tiny black arrows.

He looked away quickly when she caught him studying a faded birthmark on her right temple.

As they walked in silence, neither at ease, he realized how stupid this plan, or _lack_ of a plan, was turning out to be. He almost wanted to bluff his way out of telling her any part of it- he needed more time to think through a better way of explaining it to her, or he was going to snap in half the tenuous line of trust that had been constructed between them. He drew up a blank when he tried to come up with another reason to have asked her here- maybe he could pretend he just wanted her to meet Uncle for the sake of meeting another disgraced Fire Nation royal, one who was decidedly crazier and probably had a firmer grasp on the art of useless, polite conversation.

They reached the familiar, sprawling apartment complex and Zuko, still sticking to the shadows, motioned for her to follow him upstairs. She silently complied, head turning as sounds of other inhabitants from inside their own apartments wafted into the stairwell- no one disturbed them as Zuko clicked open the door to find Uncle standing in near the stove, posture rigid and formal.

Zuko warmed himself up enough to let all the water evaporate off him in a soft wisp of steam, and eyed the two other people in the room, who regarded each other silently. Zohra didn’t seem to notice that his clothes were almost entirely dry as he stepped closer to Uncle, while her own still dripped wet from the rain.

Uncle broke the thick silence first: “Please, come in.”

She remained rooted to her spot near the entrance and stood awkwardly straight, fists clenched at her sides, before suddenly bowing, Earth Kingdom style with her hands tucked into her sleeves. Her discomfort seemed to put Uncle at ease; when she spoke, her voice was a pitch higher than it should have been: “It is an honor to meet you.”

Uncle’s face lit up with a grin, and Zuko rolled his eyes at him- he knew _exactly_ what was coming next. As Zohra straightened up, still looking mortified, Uncle elbowed him in the ribs playfully and said, “You must forgive me for smiling, I haven’t been around a respectful teenager in many years.”

Her eyes grew comically wider, and travelled between the two of them- Zuko was half-sure she would drop on the floor from anxiety any minute now. It almost made him smirk to see her like this, a far cry from her usually detached, wry self. Uncle broke the silence again and said, “The best part about working at a tea shop is unlimited free samples to take home- which kind would you like?”

“You’re…offering me tea?”

“I believe that is the protocol when you invite a guest to your home.”

She blinked in surprise at his easy offer- Zuko had seen the same expression on many other peoples’ faces, who had expected the most fearsome, decorated general of the Fire Nation to be at least somewhat intimidating in his retirement, only to be met with…whatever Uncle really was. She regained some composure, and said, “I’m not picky.”

“Jasmine it is,” Uncle said- the least controversial flavor in the Earth Kingdom. Zuko wanted to snap at both of them; there was no time or need for formalities- he wasn’t sure why he had wanted Uncle to meet her at all- he could have just told her his half-baked plan on his own - but it definitely wasn’t for a tea ceremony.

Zohra stared at his turned back as he calmly struck spark from stone onto the stove.

“Your Uncle is nice.”

“Thank you.” _How else do I respond to that?_

“Not as scary as I imagined.”

“Yes.” _Her cloak is dripping, I should have offered to take it from her._

“Sorry about the floor, I should have hung this to dry.”

“It’s fine.” _This is awful._

“Why did you call me here?”

He almost wished the small talk could go on for longer.

She looked at him expectantly, hands still clenched into fists. “Well?”

“I don’t know _,_ okay?” he said, voice determinedly even.

Her expression softened even as her mouth remained in a quizzical frown. “You don’t _know?”_

“You can leave,” he bit out, wincing at the thought of Uncle hearing him say that to a _guest_. 

She scoffed, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t leave after I’ve already accepted an invitation for tea- that’s impolite.”

“So you’re going to stay…because you’re bound by social convention?”

“I’m _bound_ to not be rude to an elder.”

He opened his mouth to retort, and then closed it again- this was _impossible._ She looked around the apartment, taking in the cobwebbed corners, the splintered wooden paneling on the walls- Zuko felt his ears turn hot. “You’ve got something to say?”

Her gaze still wandered, as if she hadn’t heard him speak at all. “It’s bigger than mine.”

Zuko wondered if the rest of his face was red enough to make the scar undetectable. “Oh.”

“Apology accepted,” she drawled, eyes now fixed on Uncle as he placidly sprinkled tea leaves and spices into their worn clay pot- Zuko was sure he was doing his best to tacitly eavesdrop on every word. Her next words were in a conspiratorial whisper, all previous animosity evaporated: “Am I doing something wrong?”

“What?”

“You know, the whole _meeting Fire Nation royalty-_ I don’t know how I’m supposed to talk to him.”

“I don’t-“

“Forget it,” she said, quickly leaning away as Uncle glided back towards them, small tray laden with three empty cups and a full pot. Zohra’s shoulders squared again, and fists unclenched to take the tray from Uncle, making her the server. Zuko was acutely aware of how thoroughly the effortless courtesy would impress Uncle; he felt his eyes roll backwards into his head again.

“Thank you,” Uncle said, beaming, motioning for her to sit on the threadbare rug- she sank down expertly, legs folded under her and set the tray in the center, pouring the tea before Uncle had lowered himself to do so. She wordlessly offered a cup to him first, and then to Zuko, gaze fixed the whole time on her own hands before she took her own.

“Well,” Uncle said languidly, his grin unwavering. “You’re certainly very polite.” Zohra froze at the compliment, but her mouth curved upward. “My nephew seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Zuko spit out the cautious sip of tea he had taken, drenching the front of his tunic- he should have prepared for Uncle saying something like that. His panicked reaction eased her smile into a smirk, and her posture relaxed further. “I’m not so sure about that,” she said dryly.

“How long have you been in the city?”

“It’ll be three months, next week.”

“You seem to be doing well for yourself.”

She shrugged bashfully, posture still immaculate. “I suppose.”

“Zuko tells me you’re an excellent swordfighter.”

She glanced sideways at him, surprised- Zuko’s ears burned from the inside out. “He’s good, too.”

“He also said,” Uncle intoned gravely, now looking at Zuko, “that you’re a firebender.”

Zohra hesitated before nodding- she suddenly looked nervous again. He had warned her that Uncle knew about the bending, and her father’s runaway treason charges already, but it seemed to have done little to make her feel more at ease.

A few moments of silence passed, as the three of them drank from their cups. Zuko felt Uncle’s gaze on him, and knew what he was signaling- he would have to prod her for more information.

“I- we were hoping that you could tell us more about your father- maybe which battalion he worked for,” he said quickly, looking pointedly past her shoulder.”

She frowned, shoulders hunching upwards defensively. “I’m not- What are you going to do?”

“Yes,” Uncle said- he still hadn’t taken his eyes off Zuko. “What _are_ we going to do?”

“I don’t have a plan, okay?” he snapped, throwing his hands up. He looked at Uncle, jaw set in resolution. “She shouldn’t be here; her father’s treason charges wouldn’t- they _can’t_ pass onto her. She deserves to go back.”

“ _What?”_ he heard Zohra exclaim.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Zuko said, turning towards her- Uncle seemed to be lost in thought, or deliberately ignoring his sudden, coherent explanation. “You can go back to the Fire Nation- find your family. We could help you get there.”

“I don’t _have_ a family,” she said indignantly, a flush creeping up her neck.

“You can go to Master Piandao.”

“What’s _he_ going to do?”

“You said he was friends with your father- he’ll help you!”

“Why would he do _that_?”

“Why wouldn’t he?!”

Her shoulders quivered as she pushed the damp fringe of hair back from her forehead- it comically stood up straight, making her look like a ruffled raven. “You’re being stupid,” she muttered, rubbing at her wrist. “That’s not- I can’t-“

“Uncle,” Zuko said to him pleadingly- he was leaning back against the wooden panel on the wall, watching their muffled shouting match placidly. “You said that you can get a message to Master Piandao.”

“I said I _might_ be able to get a message to him,” Uncle said evenly, his hands still clasped around his empty cup of tea- he fixed Zuko with a stare that plainly said, _You dug yourself into this trench- you better climb out on your own._

“Well, there you go!”

“Zuko,” she said, halfway between furious and distressed, knuckles white as she clutched at the front of her robes. “Stop- I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because!” she snapped, voice still low, “I- Dad would _hate_ me for it.”

The room grew quiet- only the sound of rain, still thumping against the windowpane echoed noisily could be heard, as Zuko shrank back from her. Zohra grew pale, her head still proudly upturned, but her eyes now focused on the stream of rainwater trickling down the corner of the wall. She spoke before Zuko could apologize, or Uncle say something on his behalf, and said, “He left _everything_. I can’t- I couldn’t do that to him.”

She opened her mouth and closed it several times before eventually squeezing her eyes shut, looking exhausted- she seemed to have folded into herself, her head unnaturally large against her hunched shoulders. Zuko bit his tongue until the taste of copper exploded in his mouth, his forehead throbbing in regret. He knew how childishly callous he had sounded.

“Apologize,” Uncle commanded.

“I’m s-“

“Stop,” she waved him off. “Thank you for the tea- I’m going to leave, now.”

“You’re welcome to stay until the rain stops,” Uncle offered, mercifully moving his piercing stare away from Zuko and directing it at her, brow knitted in concern.

She shook her head, shoulders tense again, and stood up, pointedly avoiding Zuko’s gaze. “Thank you, but-“

“I’m sorry,” Zuko interrupted. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

She looked at him, her mouth set in resolution. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m- what?”

“You called me here,” she continued, one hand already up her sleeve as she reached for the knife he knew would be concealed there, “knowing I couldn’t take both of you.”

“That’s not-“

“You ambushed me with this- this _offer_ to go back to the Fire Nation, thinking I’d accept gladly, for _what?_ ”

“I didn’t ambush-“

“Did you think I could get _you_ back, too?”

Too stunned to speak, Zuko turned towards Uncle- his gaze was fixed on Zohra, whose expression rested firmly between confused and murderous.

“Zohra,” Uncle intoned, his voice stern and steady, “you’re mistaken.”

Zohra seemed to not have heard him. “I’m not going to help you find the Avatar.”

If it wasn’t for Uncle’s presence, Zuko was sure she would have set his head on fire with just her glare. The word Avatar made his blood run cold- a part of him almost blurted out the obvious question, the one he couldn’t give up thinking about, even as hopes of reclaiming lost honor were all but lost. But, that was ridiculous- there was no way for her to know. And, even if she did, she had made it clear that she wouldn’t tell him about it. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, the exhaustion in his own voice apparent.

She extracted the knife now, three fingers wrapped around the hilt and her first on its flat edge, her stance still hesitant- he could tell it was not out of fear of him- she probably already thought she far outmatched Zuko, but Uncle still sat nearby, unmovingly observing them; he hadn’t given her reason to hate him, yet.

Thoroughly dissatisfied with his response, she said, “I’m leaving.”

“I think my nephew has more explaining to do,” Uncle said.

She stared back, one foot already in front of the other, poised to bolt. “What do you want from me?”

“I’m trying to help you!” he heard himself say, his voice cracking from the effort. “Did you plan on staying here forever, lying about who you are for the rest of your life?”

He was met with silence- a sign that he had said entirely the wrong thing, and the realization would hit him several hours later with a bout of stomach-twisting guilt.

“Were you born with your foot in your mouth?” she deadpanned- her hair had settled back on to her forehead, still damp and disgruntled. “What have you been doing since you got here, _Lee?”_

Uncle chuckled from his position on the floor, alarming both of them. “We should have you over again, soon- this was quite an interesting tea ceremony.”

If Zuko had any strength left in his limbs at all, he would have used it to stomp on the stupid porcelain cups on the floor in front of him.

“Tell you what,” Uncle quipped, completely at ease. “I’ll start another pot on the stove, and we can start over- this time, with hopefully less hostility.”

“Why?” he heard himself say- he didn’t want to look at her anymore.

She scoffed, knife still in hand. “ _You’re_ asking why? I’m the one you dragged here.”

“I said I was trying to help.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because I’m telling the truth!”

“No, you’re _not.”_

“Fine,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Stay here, keep hiding- I don’t care.”

She scowled back, eyes several shades darker in anger. Before she could open her mouth, to retort or to spit fire, he wasn’t sure which would feel worse, Uncle interjected firmly, and said, “Both of you- enough.”

He didn’t have the strength to talk more, anyway- his vision was blurring, the lack of sleep of the past week finally catching up to him. Zohra, apparently, didn’t feel the same way.

“I know you’re still looking for him,” she said. “Why else would you be _here?”_

When he didn’t answer, head suddenly spinning, she elaborated, “The Firelord wouldn’t exile you to an enemy’s capital- you were lying to me.”

He didn’t want to face her affronted glare, or the disappointment in Uncle’s frown- he stared straight past her into the kitchen, at the chipped white paint of the walls.

“Zuko,” Uncle said from somewhere to his left- the hearing in his scarred ear had become even hazier than usual. “What exactly did you tell her?”

He felt his knees buckle below him, his eyes mercifully shutting before his face hit the floor.


	11. Another Round of Tea, Before We Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that this chapter is short, but I have finals coming up and wanted to put something out since the next one is going to be WAY longer and will probably take a while to write. Please review, I love to see them, they keep me motivated to continue with the story (which is gearing up, I promise!) As always, please point out any errors/inconsistencies you see, and review review review!!!

_Why can’t I move?_

Her right hand still gripped the hilt of her useless kitchen knife tight, mouth agape, heart no longer making a sound. General Iroh glided across the floor silently, quickly; he was not as surprised as she had expected him to be that his nephew lay unmoving, face-down, on the cracked stone floor of a Lower Ring two-room.

_Right after I accused him of lying to me._

“He’s fine,” the older man sighed in relief from the floor. He had turned Zuko over, giving Zohra a glimpse of his face stuck in a tight grimace with his eyes still firmly shut, a trickle of dark red blood staining a split lip. An apology refused to choke out beyond the hard lump in her throat, and her legs quivered in guilt, fear, anger, a whole medley of negative emotions that amplified as each second passed and her limbs refused to obey her brain. _Say something, say anything- you did this to him, why can’t you-_

“Zohra,” a calm voice interrupted her hollow conscience, stern but without any trace of anger. “He’ll be alright.”

“I’m- I-“

“Behind the basin- there’s bandages and a tin of salve.”

Her legs finally shuddered into action, automatically tracing a route to the kitchen where a basin filled to the brim with clean water greeted her next to the still-warm stove. She gently, deliberately placed her knife on the wooden shelf of the basin, resisting the screaming urge to throw it at something and make it stick. She blindly grabbed at the items stashed behind the basin, and wordlessly handed them to a former Fire Nation prince who had seamlessly assumed the role of a long-suffering healer.

“In the other room- bring whatever blankets you find, please.”

She complied, mind still buzzing, no coherent thoughts taking root.

She watched from a safe distance as he pushed the rolled-up, rough blanket under Zuko’s head- he looked smaller, paler, his form drowning in the fabric of his familiar dark tunic. His eyes opened, briefly, settling on his uncle’s face before closing again, the lines in his face relaxing as his wound was cleaned, anointed with balm and bandaged deftly.

“He needs to rest- he hasn’t been sleeping, these past few nights.”

_Because of me._

“I’m sorry, I’m- I shouldn’t have…” she trailed off, eyes hot even as tears refused to come.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he waved her off, standing up. “He pushed himself too far.”

 _Because I forced him to_.

“Are you sure if- is he…”

“This has happened before,” he answered calmly, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid- she didn’t derive any comfort from his words.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, hugging her elbows. “I shouldn’t have- it’s none of my business.” After a brief pause, thoroughly unsatisfied with her apology, Zohra finally looked him in the eye- he looked suddenly tired, much older than she knew him to be.

He regarded her carefully, brow knitted in thought. “He may never forgive me for this,” he sighed, sitting back down next to Zuko and motioning for Zohra to do the same. Her legs seemed to have turned brittle, and it took her a while to fold them beneath her- she dared not go closer, afraid of facing Zuko even as he slept away, chest moving rhythmically. “But, since he won’t be with us for a few hours, he can’t do much to stop me- what exactly did he tell you about his banishment?”

It took her several seconds to remember anything at all. “He said- he spoke out of turn at a war meeting.”

General Iroh nodded, his hand absently reaching out to push the hair back from Zuko’s forehead- the tenderness of the gesture brought a lump to her throat, but she swallowed it back down, determined to not offend him. “And then?”

“And then,” she continued, lip quivering, “there was an Agni Kai, against the general he had challenged- he lost, and he was banished for it.”

The air in the room seemed to grow stiller. “What else?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, stomach turning, threatening to turn out its contents onto the frayed rug beneath her. “He also said- he told me that he could only return home after he captured the Avatar.”

He seemed to be waiting for her to continue; when she didn’t, he sighed, “Is that all?”

She nodded, light-headed. “I shouldn’t have challenged him,” she said, the words spilling out of her, her chest growing tighter as each left her lips. “He was trying to help me- I should have been thankful.” She fixed her eyes on drop stitched pattern of the rug, barely visible through the thick layer of grime that had weaved its way into the wool.

“You were right,” he said, voice sharper than it had been a minute ago. “He didn’t tell you the truth.”

Zuko stirred suddenly, and let out a groan- Zohra hoped it would be to refute his uncle, or mercifully beg her to leave so she wouldn’t have to face him anymore- he immediately settled back down, his breathing still heavy.

General Iroh continued, no longer waiting for her stilted responses. “I apologize on my nephew’s behalf-his plan to get you back to the Fire Nation was… not well thought out. I expected you to refuse.”

“Why did he offer?” she said hollowly, breathing as measured as she could bear it to be.

He frowned in response, hands resting on his knees, and swept a watchful eye over the boy curled up next to him before looking at her again. He seemed to stare straight through her- Zohra shrank back from his gaze, her fingers curling in fear. He didn’t answer her question immediately, and instead said, “The rain won’t be stopping for another few hours- you’re welcome to stay, if you are comfortable with that.”

She stayed rooted to her position, eyes now fixed on the wall in front of her- the sound of the late-spring storm as it beat against the wooden shutters echoed through the room. “Okay.”

He smiled at her, warm and forlorn- it made her shoulders drop softly. “I suspect he will be awake soon-uninterrupted sleep is a blessing that has evaded him so far.”

“He wouldn’t want me here,” she said flatly- she knew her words were too blunt, and probably offensive, but she had already done more damage in this meeting with Fire Nation royalty than she had expected to.

He shrugged, still smiling softly. “The truth is, Zohra,” he said quietly, making her reel at the sound of her name. “He doesn’t know what he wants.” He paused, brow furrowing. “He did not mean to offend you.”

“I know,” she said quickly, not bothering to defend her affronted response to Zuko’s invitation to return to the Fire Nation- because that _was_ how she had felt, when he had all but promised safe return to a place that _couldn’t_ have been safe. General Iroh seemed to pick up on her insincerity, and shook his head in disapproval.

“I believe it’s best if you give him another chance to tell you the truth.”

She nodded listlessly- what else could she do? “Okay.”

“But in the mean time, if you don’t mind- I would like to know more about you.”

He held her gaze steadily- Zohra couldn’t have said no, even if she wanted to. “Okay.”

“You’re welcome to stop me if you don’t want to answer.”

“I will,” she said, stopping short at how awful that had sounded.

His smile grew wider nontheless, and he leaned against the wall, completely at ease. Her own back was rigid, the knots of the carpet driving an itch up her tailbone into her spine- she still refused to look near Zuko, who slept silently now, his breathing no longer raggedly audible.

“How about another round of tea, before we begin?”

* * *

Zuko’s eyes snapped open in the midst of a murky, unrecognizable dream- he was met with the harsh glare of the lantern than hung high from the ceiling shining into his face and the sweltering, still air of the apartment. The sun had not yet risen- his dampened inner flame could sense that it was at least an hour before dawn, the darkest part of the night. Uncle sat close to him, leaned against the wall, fast asleep- the rain had slowed down almost to a halt, and the room was eerily quiet.

He propped himself up on his elbows, shoulders cracking in relief from the movement- something was missing. He glanced around quickly, and made sure Uncle was not a carefully constructed hallucination by gently grazing a finger against his arm as it rested on his lap- he was here, the fabric of his sleeve rough and his warmth soaking through it, injecting Zuko with a modicum of relief. He frowned again, trying to understand what felt wrong about his surroundings, until it smacked him in the chest like the antlers of a screeching sabre-moose lion.

Zohra was gone- Uncle had probably sent her off after he had collapsed, or maybe she had stalked off in anger, unwilling to be near someone who responded to a valid request for the truth by _falling face first onto the floor._ He seemed to have lost the ability to feel embarrassment, for the moment at least- all he could think of was the betrayed, angry set of her jaw when she had challenged him about lying to her.

Because he _had_ withheld the truth- how could he not? He couldn’t bear to look at this person, with her jaded eyes and wry smile, long fingers easily spinning a kitchen knife as a makeshift and useless intimidation tool, inner flame as shaky as a child’s, and tell her that he had failed so spectacularly, so _often_ that no one wanted him anymore.

He couldn’t tell her the truth about the Agni Kai- he couldn’t tell her about the continued failures to capture the Avatar- he couldn’t tell her about the North Pole, about Zhao- he couldn’t tell her about Father or Azula- or his mother, or the myriad of other people he knew he had disappointed. 

He fell back against the rough blankets shoved under his head as a sad excuse for a pillow, knuckles absently tracing the edges of the bandages on his split lip, heavy with the pungent mixture of dried blood and salve. Uncle stirred next to him but didn’t wake up- Zuko felt a familiar knot of guilt forming in his stomach, and gently nudged Uncle awake, knowing a few hours of sleep on a real mattress would be better for him than an uninterrupted, uncomfortable one on the floor. His eyes opened slowly, mouth set in a frown until his gaze fell on Zuko, who looked back silently, doing his best to mask his helplessness with an impassive glare. Uncle smiled sadly, mercifully holding back a disappointed shake of the head at his nephew’s continued ignorance of his physical needs.

“Go to bed, Uncle,” he said tiredly, turning away from him.

“You can take the day off from work.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” Uncle said, hand resting on Zuko’s forehead, checking for a fever that wasn’t there. “I order you to take the day off from work.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I outrank you at the shop- tea maker’s above tea server,” he said, chuckling, a gentle reminder that at least one person hadn’t given up on him yet- though he surely had came precariously close. “You need more rest.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You also,” Uncle continued, unconvinced, “have some explaining to do.”

He didn’t respond, eyes fixed on the door.

“Zuko,” Uncle said softly, his tone a familiar mix of chastising and concerned, “she’s not angry with you.”

He didn’t know how to tell Uncle how little he believed him.

“She will accept whatever you tell her.”

Again, no response- Uncle would know what his silence meant.

“She said she would wait for you, tonight, at the same place.”

He knew what that meant- the musty granary, again, as if nothing had changed. “Why?” he heard himself ask, eyes straining for more sleep that he knew would evade him when he looked for it. Uncle’s hand still rested on his forehead.

“You can say no, of course,” Uncle said placidly, finally getting up and walking over him to make his way to their beds in the other room. “Do what you think is best.”

Zuko _hated_ that particular piece of advice, as rare as it was.

He slowly lifted himself off the floor, wincing as every joint in his body cracked from the movement, and trudged over to the kitchen, scooping up the contents of the bucket reserved for drinking water directly into his hands- like some kind of _animal_ , but he was beyond caring- and drank it hurriedly, trying to wash down the taste of bile that threatened to spew out of his mouth.

His eyes registered a flash of silver- it was Zohra’s kitchen knife, small and unassuming but still sharpened to a hair-thin edge, glinting at him from next to the basin; she had probably forgotten it here, he couldn’t imagine her leaving it on purpose for him to find. He reached out for it, turning it over in his hands- it felt too light, too unbalanced to ever pose a real threat. It was nothing like his own ornate dagger, the one Uncle had sent him as a souvenir from the shameful surrender of a general guarding the outer wall of this very city some seven years ago, the one that urged its owner to never give up without a fight. It was flimsy, cheap, unpolished- nothing separating it from thousands of other mass-produced kitchen knives but the clear signs of a master swordsman’s sharpening skills, which had made it look somewhat impressive in her deft hands.

For several seconds he stared down at it, feeling the tiny splinters of the wooden hilt drive their way into his palm as he gripped it harder. Without thinking, he threw it sluggishly at the wall farthest from him, a dismal six feet away- it stuck timidly by its very tip to the dull wooden paneling before tumbling down slowly, mockingly, and clattering quietly on the floor- not loud enough to stir Uncle as he snored away on the other side. He picked it up and deliberately drove it into the panel until it stuck as seamlessly as it had when Zohra had whipped it towards the dark, painted wood of the granary, two nights ago.

_What do you want from me?_

Nothing- she couldn’t give him anything but a minor distraction from what had plagued him these past three years. He knew, deep down, that his offer to help her return had come from a selfish place, from his own need to feel somewhat, _somehow_ connected to his home- it was foolish to pile the last shred of his redemption on her, where it would weigh her down as heavily as it did him.

She had offered him another chance to explain himself- what could even he tell her without driving her further away?

_I’m not going to help you look for the Avatar_

To Zuko, the Avatar was already gone- he had slipped past his fingers one too many times, and his memory of his chase to capture him had become as distant as his memory of the Fire Nation itself. He could picture the craggy brown hills surrounding the Caldera, and the fire lilies that bloomed only for a few celebrated weeks, and the pale blue waters surrounding Ember Island- what he could no longer remember was the palace itself, beyond the high walls of the War Room where he had spoken the wrong words out loud. He couldn’t bring himself to visualize the turtle-duck pond in the biggest courtyard, or the red silk curtains of his bedroom, or the tranquility of the rarely-used tea room.

Only the faces of the servants, the guards, the generals and aristocrats that walked proudly down the halls- only the faces of his own family were clear in his mind. His father’s disapproving frown and cold sneer at his son’s missteps; his mother’s sad eyes and tight grimace on the night she had hugged him goodbye; his sister’s disdainful smirk as Zuko had fought with enemies to take her down, and still failed, six against one royal prodigy. Was that the last time he had seen Azula? She had aimed to kill Uncle, a neat shot of lightning that had hit him a centimeter off from his heart, a fraction of an inch that had saved Zuko’s world from crumbling further than it already had.

The Avatar was the least of his worries, even if he still occupied a portion of his mind that he couldn’t seem to let go- Zohra wouldn’t be doing Zuko any favors by helping him look for the world’s last airbender, even if she had any idea how to. 

_You were lying to me._

It should have made him frustrated, that she had connected the dots in his non-careful retelling of his banishment only to find the gaping holes. She always seemed to be a step ahead of him, no matter what he did; instead of anger he only felt hollowness in his chest- guilty in an entirely familiar way.

He shuffled into room where Uncle lay on the larger bed, and collapsed on the thin, useless mattress of his own narrower one, uncomfortably aware of each breath he took.

If nothing else, he’d have to see her again to return her ugly, unbalanced, _stupid_ kitchen knife.


	12. What's A Truce?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure I'm really not happy with how this chapter turned out, but I went through some really bad Writer's block after my finals ended and it was a struggle to get anything out at all. As always, please let me know if you see any inconsistencies or mistakes, or just generally have feedback on the writing. Reviews are always appreciated, both good and bad!

The Lower Ring was particularly dreary today; it always was, after a big storm. The cobblestone streets were damp and muddy, the gutters along them still bleakly carrying the remains of last night’s spring shower as the city woke up from its slumber to weak sunshine and still-hazy skies. To add to the misery, a new boat full of asylum seekers, each with a new horror to report about the hundred-year war, had arrived at the docks at dawn- they were now undergoing their last passport and security checks before being escorted to the most heavily barricaded part of the city, walls determined to keep its impoverished citizens in as much as they were successful in keeping the Fire Nation out. It had caused a stir among Lower Ring residents this early in the day, as they grumbled endlessly about how there was no work, no space, no _use_ for ungrateful, lazy, freeloading refugees.

Wuei paid no attention to the whispered dissent that could be heard, if you listened, on every street corner unmanned by a Dai Li agent; his thoughts were fully occupied only by the work he had been asked to do for another member of the Order of the White Lotus, who happened to work a day job equally as boring as his own on the _same street_. He had almost given up on the Order ever providing any excitement; when the tea maker had approached him with lotus tile expertly tucked between his fingers, Wuei had almost kissed the man in gratitude, borderline giddy with the prospect of escaping the drivel of his life in favor of a top secret mission.

Truthfully, it was not as exciting as Wuei was giving it credit for- all he had to do was travel to the Middle Ring tonight and send a letter through the city’s post to Gaoling, from where it would be delivered to an unspecified location. What was far more intriguing was the fact that a _refugee_ was a member of the Order at all; the man was short and kindly looking, every word he spoke laced with a deep smile that had put Wuei at ease as he scribbled down instructions, doing his best to look professional and discreet. He lost all composure, however, when he saw the man’s nephew: the tea server at Pao’s with a wicked, star-shaped scar all over his left eye- a souvenir from a firebender, no doubt. He was sulking a few feet away as his uncle took care of business for the Order, which meant he hadn’t been officially indoctrinated into the society yet and wasn’t allowed to sit in on meetings- but something about him was intriguing, like he had _seen_ things that other teenagers fleeing from the war had not.

Probably had to do with how half his face was horrifically mutilated in a way nobody could possibly ignore- spirits, how could someone _survive_ something like that?

Wuei didn’t bother holding himself back; once he had taken care of business for the Order with the older man, he had grabbed his nephew and led him down the street, determined to extract gory details about life beyond the walls of the city from him. It hadn’t led to much good; the boy responded to every piece of information he threw his way with nothing but a deep scowl that seemed to be a permanent feature.

Maybe he had been premature in his assessment of the guy’s experience with the war- maybe the scar was just a serious birth defect, because he seemed determined not to have an opinion on the Fire Nation at all. Wuei lost interest in his mute, ill-tempered conversation partner as soon as he saw Liah walking towards then, armed with a smile wide enough to light up the sky. His poorly chosen informant nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of her, which Wuei couldn’t blame him for; he was pretty sure he had done the same thing when he met Liah, two years younger than him and stunningly beautiful, for the first time as she had dropped by the granary to talk to Zohra.

_Focus on the mission- you’re delivering a top-secret message through the Middle Ring tonight, and it has to be done perfectly._

When he reached work, Zohra was there, efficient as ever, and had already begun to pick out the sacks of grains that had sustained too much damage from the dripping roof to be salvageable. He watched her work for a moment, frowning, before stalking forward to stand close to her- she kept moving sacks even as he approached her, and his gaze fell on the tired bags under her eyes. 

“You look awful.”

“Good morning to you too, Wuei,” she shot back, quickly turning away from him.

“You had the day off yesterday.”

“So?”

“So, most people would _rest_ ,” he said, bending down to look at her face closely- the frown line in her forehead seemed to have become a permanent feature. She planted a hand on his face and pushed him backwards, but only succeeded in knocking his glasses askew.

“Do you want me to leave? I’d love to get my week’s wages without finishing this shift,” she grumbled, turning away again, intently scribbling down useless inventory in the new week’s books.

“Do you _need_ to leave?”

“No.”

“Wrong answer,” he groaned. “I can’t let you go until you profess to a medical emergency- they’re sending an inspector soon, because for _some reason,_ ” he emphasized, still towering over her, “there’s been complaints about how _unhelpful_ this unit’s employees are.”

He was lying about the inspector, of course; it was always fun to see how far he could push her patience before she snapped at him.

“No one comes by during my shift,” she said defensively, brow knitting in contempt. “It’s not me.”

“Doesn’t matter- either you look happy to be here, or you go home and maybe shut those eyes, for once- did you even _blink_ this whole time I’ve been talking?”

She scowled deeply, and said, “The work’s getting done- I don’t need to look _happy to be here_.”

“The privilege to look miserable belongs only to the manager,” he retorted, not quite ready to back down yet.

Zohra groaned so loudly it might as well have been a roar. “Wuei, _please_ , let me just get this day over with.”

“Alright, alright- the offer still stands, though,” he said helpfully, “you can go home if you _just_ say you have-“

“A headache?” she interrupted tiredly, finally beat down by his unwavering positivity.

“Works for me- list the reason you left early when you sign out, and I’ll try to see that it doesn’t get deducted from your pay.”

“Thanks,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck, the bags under her eyes eerily blue. “I mean it.”

“Good,” he said languidly, chest puffing at his day’s act of kindness. He straightened his glasses and realized she had already stalked towards the entrance, leaving him behind in their crumbling workplace with a shift’s worth of unfinished sweeping.

_Good- more time to think about how two kooky refugees working at a tea shop in this dreadful city could have ties to the Order._

* * *

Liah wouldn’t be home, right now; she had said earlier in the morning that she wanted to venture to the open-market in the center of the Lower Ring, and buy herself some new clothes (of which she already had plenty, courtesy her _selfless_ employers), new shoes for her perfectly small feet, new rouge for her already pink lips- all descriptions from Liah herself, before her roommate could poke fun at her for her unbalanced spending habits and supposedly _effortless_ beauty.

Zohra was relieved when she had revealed she wouldn’t be home for most of the day- she wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and nestle under the covers, as she trudged through the doors into the apartment, ears still ringing with the sound of Wuei’s voice as he had mercifully let her have the rest of the day off. She stopped short at the sight of her reflection on the mirror propped up against the kitchen cabinet- her hair looked _awful_ , stringy and limp after it had been put through the hot rain of last night’s storm- and the sweat from the stale, stifling air of a Lower Ring apartment that wasn’t her own.

She needed a bath.

She drew up water into a wooden bucket from the communal well in the hallway of the building, and didn’t bother heating half of it to a rolling boil on the stove as Liah had taught her to do to avoid freezing her toes off- she couldn’t be bothered, today. She dumped the cold, silky water into the miniscule bathtub nestled at the very corner of the apartment, stripped and stumbled in, fighting every bone in her body from screaming out against the chill.

She evened her breathing, trying to heat the water with firebending; it didn’t work, and she curled up further into herself shivering, fingers frantically rubbing a bar of stolen-from-the-Chu’s jasmine scented soap into her hair, eyes begging for more sleep that she already knew wouldn’t come. The air of the one-room became thick with the smell of the soap, which made her gag with the memory of an entirely different room from last night, as General Iroh had forced another cup of jasmine tea into her that she had to fight to keep down.

A part of Zohra wanted to shut in on itself; she was tired of the hesitation, the half-truths, of the lack of trust on both her and Zuko’s end. It would be so easy, so painless to drink a half-glass of vile tasting rice wine until her head grew heavy, to sleep off the anxiety and distress of the past week, and wake up feeling like a new person who had never met a Fire Nation prince, pretending to be a refugee tea server, pretending to be a dual sword-wielding blue-faced spirit.

…But, it made her head spin in agony, to force herself to forget him.

She wanted to resent him, for what he had put her through- it was her own fault, for getting embroiled in this mess in the first place, but she hadn’t been- she _couldn’t_ have been prepared for him trying to get her back to the country her father had run away from, with no intention of returning to. There was too much wrong with the idea of letting Dad’s sacrifice be for nothing, of letting the broken fabric of her life be fixed by the wave of a former prince’s calloused hand, and his secret resources that she could never dream of having. That was what General Iroh had implied, during their short, torturous conversation that skirted on the edge of anything real: he and Zuko were outcasts, but well-connected outcasts. They had to be, if they had sneaked past the walls of the city complete with false identities and papers.

_“I don’t pretend to wield any influence strong enough to keep us safe, if we are discovered here. But, I have friends in the Earth Kingdom, from my days spent travelling after the siege- their generosity and resourcefulness is what saved both mine and my nephew’s life, and gave us a chance for a new one in this great city.”_

And yet, she also knew it wasn’t fair to blame Zuko entirely for how she had reacted last night; it was just too confusing to deal with why she felt as strongly as she did against the idea.

His uncle, too kind and too level-headed to ever be mistaken for a Fire Nation war hero, had convinced her that the prince’s offer had come with no strings attached, and nothing but genuine altruism on his nephew’s end; but how was she supposed to trust that, when he had lied to her about himself, and his banishment?

_“He didn’t tell you the truth.”_

She wasn’t sure she wanted it, anymore.

…So, why did the thought of calling it off, of threatening him against exposing her secrets-which she hadn’t hesitated to do just a few days before- make her heart beat frantically in protest now?

Her hair, shorter than she was used to it being, floated gently in the water above her as she forced her head underwater, trying to see how long she could keep her inner flame steady without breathing. It flickered miserably, too cold at the base of her stomach, crawling up her spine like a thorny vine of helplessness- her legs cramped as her knees were pressed into her chest, the tub too small to let her stretch out any further. She kept her eyes open as she stayed underwater for a few more seconds, trying to drown out the noises of the rest of the city in the middle of a workday- a workday that she had abandoned without even _thinking_ of the consequences of disappointing Wuei, and losing a job that hundreds of other refugees would not hesitate to kill her for.

She felt her elbows push downward into the edges of the tub until her head broke the surface of the water, gasping for breaths that she had held too long.

_I need to tell him that this has to end._

…And then, what?

Back to the hollowness, the loneliness, the sheer _boredom_ of life before she had ambushed the strange boy in a blue mask, desperate to fill the rapidly expanding hole in her gut, as her inner flame wasted away without anything to focus on, anything to do.

No, it was too much disappointment to deal with, if she decided to cut him off right now, and walk away without at least an explanation.

She pushed herself up and stood in the wooden bathtub for a few moments, squeezing her hair to get most of the water out, her teeth clattering from the chill of the air against her damp limbs. She didn’t bother extracting a fresh nightshirt; instead, she changed back into the work clothes she had put on just a few hours before, when she had genuinely thought that she might be able to get through the day with a level head. She had woken up that morning foolishly believing she could somehow formulate the exact words she would need to say to the boy with the scar to get him to start making sense _._

She sighed as she fell into bed, cold skin itching for the thin summer blanket; all she could do was hope hope that the right words would come to her in the middle of a restless, midday sleep.

* * *

_I don’t want to do this._

The plea to the universe echoed through his mind as he slinked towards the granary at midnight- it continued steadily even as he faced Zohra once she had pulled him inside, nails digging into his forearm with a determination that made his skin crawl. She quickly whipped back her hand once the door had swung shut behind him, lips pursued.

Zuko hadn’t worn his mask; he had only the thin hood of his tunic, attached by some peasant Earth Kingdom tailor as a poorly constructed afterthought, pulled over his head. They were both unarmed, today- her knife was secured, uncovered, by the belt of his tunic; he had strategically placed it so that she could ask for it back without him having to say a word. The air around them was tinged faintly with jasmine- the scent would have been more distracting if he wasn’t already dizzy with anxiety. He had prepared the opening lines of an apology that he already knew no sane person would understand or accept: _I’m sorry I offered to send you back to a place you clearly want nothing to do with; I thought it could somehow make me regain a shred of the honor I lost and the dignity I somehow keep losing._

It was more of a wallow than an explanation- he was glad she didn’t have her swords with her. He prepared himself to break the silence, chest creaking with effort.

Zohra began to speak first, which almost made him stumble back in surprise. Her voice rang out an octave too loud in the still night: “About last night- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you, when you offered to get me back to the Fire Nation- I know you were just trying to help.”

_What?_

“Yeah,” he said as offhandedly as he could, trying to squash any traces of desperation of out of his tone.

“I mean it- I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I just…” she trailed off, leaning against the wall, eyes suddenly shifting to look past his shoulder. “I can’t go there.”

 _Did she just apologize to_ me?

It was too late to ask her to stop- he felt himself nod listlessly instead, even though he knew it wasn’t at all the right reaction. His eyes burned hot- he wanted to get this over with, whatever it was turning out to be.

She nodded back at him and they fell into a silence that seemed to get heavier with every second that passed by. He quickly forgot the beginnings of the apology he had spent the whole day preparing, and figured it would probably be best to run away before he collapsed in exhaustion at her feet again. Her gaze fell on his as he scrambled to find a way to end this meeting, and leave before she could scream at him to.

“Can I have my knife back?”

He handed it back to her hilt first, the safe way- she took it swiftly and immediately began spinning it between her fingers frantically. It resembled a nervous tick today, instead of an intimidation technique- Zuko wondered if she knew how strange she looked with an expression of total bewilderment on her face as the blade rotated between her hands flawlessly, without pause.

She stopped, suddenly, tucking it into her sleeve. “How about we make a deal?”

His heart skipped several beats. “What?”

She smiled softly in response, eyes crinkled at the corners- he felt some (but not _enough_ ) of the anxiety roll off his shoulders. “First off- no more threats, no more bargaining, no more _I’m going to tell everyone you’re a firebender-_ from either of us, ever. Does that sound okay?”

_What?_

“Okay.”

“Second- I want to keep meeting for sparring.” She spoke hurriedly now, as if she was afraid he would stop her: “I’m really out of practice, and being here, in the Lower Ring…it _sucks._ I never get a chance to just…” she trailed off and awkwardly made a slicing motion with both hands, which caused him to flinch backwards in surprise- she quickly crossed her arms over her chest, color rising up her neck. “So, yeah- if you want to- and if you’re okay with it…”

He felt his eyes grow wider, the corners of his mouth twitching to say _yes_ , even though it didn’t make _sense_ for her to even want to look at him again, after how badly he had screwed things up last night.

“You don’t _have_ to say yes,” she said quickly, a frown line forming in the center of her forehead again. “But I really should practice, and…I already know you,” she finished awkwardly. “So, yeah- I want to keep sparring, if you want to.” The knife was back in her hands, turning pirouettes between her fingers effortlessly.

It was too much; he needed to stop her before she said something else that was exactly what he wanted to hear, without him deserving it.

“Why are you doing this?” he heard himself ask, his voice clearer than he had expected it to be.

“I told you, I need to practice, and-“

“Not that,” he cut her off, finally leaning on the wall behind him, wincing at the sound of hundreds of spiders scurrying away in fear- how much longer was she going to avoid how badly _he_ had screwed up? “You know what I mean.”

She sighed, and brought a hand up to her face, pinching the space between her brows like she was warding off a headache. “I can’t believe I have to say this,” she grumbled, averting her gaze so she was looking a few inches to his left. “I’m _trying_ to say that I…want us to be friends.”

When he stared back at her in silence, stupefied, she let out a groan and brought her hands up to her temples again, like he was some impertinent child she had been ordered to deal with. “We know all this…this _information_ about each other,” she huffed. “So I’m extending a truce.”

“A truce,” he echoed.

“You don’t know what that means?” she deadpanned, her cheeks still tinged with red.

It took him several seconds to realize he was being made fun of.

“I know what it _means._ ”

She threw her head back and rolled her eyes in response, hair across her forehead curiously bouncing up as she did. “Then stop looking like that- like I’m about to stab you.”

He felt blood rush to his face. “Stop moving your knife like that.”

She gripped the handle, hand quivering, knuckles glowing white. “Are you comfortable now, your highness?” she drawled.

“Don’t call me that.”

“But you’re so _good_ at giving orders.”

He scowled; this was going to be a much longer night than he had anticipated.


	13. Levelling The Field

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to everyone who is still reading this, thanks for sticking with the story! I won't apologize for it being a VERY slow burn, but I promise things will pick up soon. As always, please point out any mistakes or inconsistencies you see and review!!! I love to see them

“So? What’s your answer?”

Her hand itched to smack that scowl off his face. She had done _everything_ right; how could he rebuke her, after she had apologized and asked him to be friends? She regretted using that word, now; she should have just asked for a truce, and not tried to pretend that the wobbly, brittle connection they shared could ever approach something as normal as that.

Her stomach twisted in a feeling she couldn’t place at the idea of him rejecting her own offer as coldly as she had rejected his from the night before. Her eyes burned with tears that she blinked back before they could show, determined to at least keep her dignity intact in front of Zuko- her vision blurred softly, making him look like a life-size, white-faced clay doll, the kind they sold to disgruntled parents of shrill children in the Lower Ring marketplace. She didn’t trust herself not to sever fingers off with the flimsy blade in her right hand as her inner fire dangerously throbbed in the center of her stomach, more uncontrollable than it had been in several days.

He mumbled an inaudible response.

“Speak up,” she snapped, wincing at how high pitched her voice sounded.

“I’m sorry.”

 _That_ was unexpected.

She met his gaze hesitantly. “Oh.”

“I assumed- wrongly- that you’d want to go back,” he said flatly, brow knitted. “It was out of turn.”

She thought about it for a second, as a string of tension snapped in her shoulders and she felt them drop down half an inch. Zuko’s mouth pressed into a thin line as if he was poised to explain himself, should she demand it.

She was tired of being predictable.

“It’s alright,” she said, turning the knife between her fingers again, careful not to be too flashy- she was spinning it to have something to _do_ with her hands, and not to put him at unease. “You still haven’t given _your_ answer, though.”

“I accept the terms of the truce,” he intoned, and Zohra’s vision finally un-blurred, clear enough that she could see the sincerity of the apology in pale gold eyes, in the lines of earnestness etched out on his face even as his mouth remained locked in a hesitant frown. Relief flooded through her, and she didn’t bother restraining a half-smile even though she was still _furious_ with him for how insufferable he insisted on making this exchange, for how easily he could both stoke her anger and drench it completely within the next minute.

“Okay,” she said, keeping her voice determinedly even- maybe it was better to act like this, like they were reluctant partners working together for conveniences’ sake only. “Then, we’re done here.”

He flinched, which made her shoulders drop further- she still sounded _mean_. “Okay.”

She bit her tongue and nodded, motioning for him to leave. He obeyed, immediately, and walked slowly towards the door, the right half of his face glowing pale from the thin sheen of sweat that had erupted on his brow. He placed a hand on the heavy wooden door, bracing to push it open; Zohra felt another string of tension break, this time in her throat as her voice poured out effortlessly, surprising them both.

“Wait,” she said clearly, head still buzzing in anger, confusion, sympathy­- since when was it possible to feel three entirely different emotions towards the same person, at once? “Just…hold on, for a minute.”

_You’re aiming for normalcy- say something normal._

“What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning- she wondered if the strain in his voice was from annoyance, worry, or just plain fatigue; why did every conversation with the former Fire Nation prince feel like a marathon, a sparring session in itself? Zohra wasn’t used to paying attention to the way people spoke- people of the Earth Kingdom relied on metaphor to convey their hidden conversational agendas, and not on tone or carefully placed, deafening silences. But Zuko spoke so sparsely that every infliction on every word felt like it carried some weight behind it- it was _exhausting_ , trying to stay a step ahead of him.

“Thanks - for my knife,” she said. _That…didn’t sound normal._ “I didn’t mean to leave it at your apartment.”

“It’s fine.”

“And thank your uncle too, for the tea.”

He nodded, brow knitting again.

She was out of words to say. “See you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

_Maybe you’ll learn how to speak like a real human being by then._

It took her several seconds of facing his affronted glare to realize she’d said those words out loud.

“I speak _fine,”_ he huffed, fully turning around to face her.

“It’s like every extra syllable is painful for you.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“How about _you’re welcome?”_

His arms crossed over his chest. “It’s not like I had any use for your stupid knife,” he muttered, which caused her brow to rise.

She counted on her fingers, making sure to linger on each to prey on his impatience as much as possible. “Eleven words in a single sentence- must be a new record for you,” she said, voice teetering on the edge of mirth.

“You’re not so interesting yourself.”

“He bites back!” she exclaimed - her mouth curved upwards, in spite of itself. “Ask me something interesting, then.”

He said his next words as though he was incapable of keeping them in any longer: “You didn’t ask about my banishment.”

They were standing at arm’s length, close enough for Zohra to be able to see that his scowl of annoyance had morphed into one of confusion. A part of her recoiled at his disarmingly _low_ expectations of her; did he seriously think that she would force him to detail the worst day of his life? She had already beaten herself up enough about challenging him last night, when the stress of her accusation had caused him to collapse right in front of her- why was he still so apprehensive? Her apology should have been a tip off that she truly didn’t expect anything more from him about his past; her offer of a truce should have been direct confirmation that she was done demanding information that he didn’t want to give.

She prepared to brush it off and spare him the agony of explaining himself- but something about ignoring his non-question seemed wrong, like it would torture him even more than if she demanded the truth. It occurred to her that Zuko didn’t want her pity just as much as he didn’t expect her empathy- he was forcing her, inadvertently, to walk a line of careful aloofness that didn’t come naturally to her. She stared at him for another moment, trying to find the least offensive way to let him down on both counts.

“You can tell me,” she said slowly, walking past him to push against the door soundlessly, skin sighing in relief at the sudden breeze that flew in as she did, “when I win against you tomorrow.”

* * *

He lost, because of _course._

Zuko stared at the tip of her sword a neat inch away from the hollow of his neck, its companion’s edge grazing the side of his stomach and rendering him incapable of moving without being sliced through. Their sparring round had lasted longer than either of them had expected it to, both of them struggling to get ahead of the others’ almost identical training- but Zohra had come out on top, her ease in their miserable surroundings giving her the upper hand.

The fight itself had felt…good. The space of the granary was too limited for any _real_ training, and they couldn’t make much noise for fear of being caught, but it still felt _good._ His heart was pumping from the adrenaline, and his mind felt unclouded for the first time in weeks as his limbs buzzed with fresh circulation. Zuko wasn’t used to not having his own neck on the line when brandishing his swords; every time he had done so after leaving the Fire Nation and the quiet comfort of Master Piandao’s private dojo had been in the most desperate of conditions, with ­ _everything_ at stake. It was a relief to let his instincts take over, and not have to worry about losing his cover or his life; it was strange to actually feel breezes of movement on his face, to have his senses entirely undisturbed by the blue spirit mask pressing an uncomfortable weight against his features.

He got used to the freedom soon enough, as his thoughts became entirely consumed by the ferocious, cut-throat style of his opponent, who spared him no mercy as she whipped steel around her, her feet moving fluidly on the cracked cement floor of the granary.

He glowered at the satisfied smile on her face, entirely not ready to uphold his part of last night’s deal; he had prepared for this outcome, but that didn’t mean he _wanted_ to.

Zohra withdrew her weapons suddenly, shoulders thrown back in ease. She regarded him for a moment, feet shifting into a more comfortable stance. “That was fun,” she said breezily, blowing a strand of hair out of her face, brown eyes glowing. The lamp in the corner of the granary burned steadily, lengthening the shadows on the wall, coloring her silhouette a deep red; she looked taller, gaze steadily locked with his. “Best two out of three?”

He immediately understood what she was doing when he won the next two rounds, a little too easily; that didn’t mean that he was happy about it.

* * *

Zohra woke up smiling; she went to work humming the tune to a drinking song she had heard the street urchins sing loudly as the curfew approached on her first night in Ba Sing Se, before they would be forced to scramble for shelter. She restrained her giddiness just barely when Wuei sauntered in, even though she was sure he could tell that something was up by the way his eyes narrowed at the sight of her looking decidedly un-miserable with her work. He was less talkative today than she had ever seen him, but Zohra could not be bothered to ask why; the last thing she needed was one of her manager’s dreary soliloquies dragging her mood down.

She let Liah teach her a ballroom dance that she had caught stolen glances of in the Middle Ring’s academies, surprised that the slow, sweeping footwork came easily to her; she laughed when the bok choi she had painstakingly fried turned out to be almost inedible, rancid from the spoiled peanut oil and they were forced to break into the careful rations of dried meat that Liah had swiped from the Chu’s during her overnight shift. She volunteered to discard their unsalvageable leftovers at their building’s gag-inducing waste chute, which had caused Liah to frown in suspicion at her uncharacteristic helpfulness, but she didn’t _care_ \- she needed to repay the universe somehow, for making her much needed, much _wanted_ sparring sessions with Zuko a tangible reality.

She pretended to retire to bed with a grin still plastered on her face, her fingers softly crawling up the wall until they hit the cool edge of her cloth-bound Dao, chest tight with excitement; she was going to feel the thrill of a fight again, her second time in two nights, more than she had trained in _months._ She firmly pushed away all feelings of guilt that would occasionally creep up her spine when she thought too hard about how long it had been since she trained with her father- she couldn’t afford to get lost in sentimentality when things were _finally_ going right for her.

There was only one problem: Zuko still thought that he owed her something _-_ the guy had some seriously messed up views on the sanctity of a stupid pact that she had made unthinkingly. But, she was willing to put it off for as long as she could, just so they could keep sparring. She had let him win against her last night to avoid the conversation (even though it wasn’t much effort at all because he was _good,_ clearly a student of Master Piandao’s, quick-footed and strategic and just as coiled up in unused potential as she was); she knew she would have a hard time putting it off much longer.

Of course, she still _wanted_ to know about him. He was still an exiled prince of the Fire Nation, still infuriatingly withdrawn, and he was hiding in Ba Sing Se with his uncle, the _Dragon of the West;_ everything about him was endlessly fascinating to Zohra. But she was willing to let it go, to actively work against hearing the truth if it meant they could keep sparring, uninterrupted, without having to worry about him backing away once he was forced to confront her.

She knew it wasn’t a permanent solution; but she was going to lose every match, every night, as long as things could stay the same.

* * *

On their third night of sparring, he snapped.

“Stop pretending to lose.”

“Who said I was pretending?” she replied too quickly, clutching at a stitch in her side as she leaned against the wall, eyes trained on the ceiling. Both of them were exhausted, worn out from their sudden increase in activity over the past week; Zuko didn’t know much about Zohra’s life during the day, but he was fairly certain her job had to be at least somewhat physically grueling if she worked at a granary stacked with sacks of grain twice her size. He felt himself slowing down, too- three days of ten hour shifts at Pao’s combined with a whole hour of sparring at full strength had made each muscle in his body scream in protest when he woke up from his too short (but strangely undisturbed) sleep.

Zohra clasped her fingers together and reached her arms over her head until her shoulders cracked softly, and the lines of effort etched out on her face relaxed. Her Dao were already strapped to her back, cloth-bound edges indistinguishable from the dark fabric of her tunic so that the polished wooden hilt seemed to be floating next to her head.

“You loosen your grip at the last minute, like you want me to disarm you.”

“Maybe I just have sweaty palms.”

“No, you don’t.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

He scoffed, and looked away. Zohra dropped her head until he felt her eyes bore into the side of his face- he could almost hear the gears turning in her head. “Why do you think I’m pretending to lose?”

The question was more on the nose than he was used to from her- he was strangely relieved that she was finally putting him on the spot. “Because _I_ tried to withdraw first, and you practically threw your weapons away- admit it.”

He could have sworn he saw some of the color drain out of her face. “Maybe we’re both tired,” she suggested, gaze now set at a point past his shoulder. “Let’s take tomorrow night off.”

He scowled in response; she huffed impatiently at him in return.

“We can’t keep training every single day, it’ll wreck us.”

“You’re letting me win.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I _know_ what you’re doing.”

She turned her head sharply until her eyes were level with his- her face was flushed from the fight, a few strands of dark hair escaping the hastily tied ponytail atop her head. “I’m fine with the way things are,” she said coldly, shoulders stiff. “Don’t ruin this.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but shut it quickly when he realized what she really meant: _I don’t need the truth from you, anymore- we’re even._

He was too surprised at her to respond; Zohra steadily held his gaze for another moment, until her tight grimace melted into an impassive glare.

“I’ll be in better shape after a night off,” she said clearly, slowly, walking past him towards the exit. “You should rest, too.”

_I’m not going to go easy on you next time._

It should have felt like a threat was supposed to; but it only made the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in anticipation, mixed with the relief of finally, _finally_ not feeling the weight of an unpaid debt upon his shoulders. 


	14. Lighten Up, Sensei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set up/filler chapter, but some important stuff happens- I have midterms now and won't be touching this story for the next couple of weeks, and really wanted to get something out there! Thank you to everyone who leaves reviews, I promise I read them and will one day PERSONALLY thank each of you for being so kind and helpful. (So please continue to shout criticism or encouragement or even a good recipe for mac and cheese because ANYTHING in the comments motivates me to write this!)  
> We're over 2k views and like...I cannot believe 2k people actually read this lmao y'all are trippin

“I need to talk to you.”

“Can this wait,” she replied, fingers slippery with soap as her hands worked to get the stains out of a week’s worth of laundry, stuffed unceremoniously into their bathtub. “I cannot believe you’re making me do yours, too.”

“You _know_ how dry my skin gets,” Liah snapped back, causing Zohra to look up in surprise; her voice was hollow, entirely devoid of a lurking grin- had she found something out? She held her gaze for a moment, guilt and terror turning her stomach as the idea of Liah having caught on to what she was doing. _What if she been hearing me leaving, every night? I should wait to see if she's woken up before I just walk out like a bare target._

“Okay,” Zohra said slowly, doing her best to sound concerned instead of caustic.

“First you have to promise to not get mad.”

“Well, I can’t _promise-“_

“Zohra, please,” she said quietly, slumping on their rickety stool, hands now tapping away a nervous tune on her lap.

“Okay- what is it?”

“You’re _sure_ you won’t get mad?”

“Just tell me.”

“I’m…leaving.”

“What?”

“I’m leaving the Lower Ring, next week.”

“…what?”

“The Chu’s offered me a full-time job, okay? They’re moving to a bigger place in the Middle Ring, and they want me to go with them.”

For a few seconds, the noises of the street seemed muffled, as though Zohra had plunged her head into the tub in front of her. ”You’re moving to the Middle Ring?”

“Please don’t be mad- I’m going to pay my share of rent for the next month, don’t even worry about that, and I promise I’ll help you look for a new place before I go, and I’ll swipe you something _real_ expensive from work, and- _ugh,_ what are you _doing?”_

Zohra had lunged across her workspace to grab her friend and throw her arms around her, even as her blood ran cold at the implication of Liah’s words: _I’m leaving, so you’re back to being alone._

“I’m hugging you, genius,” she said, voice cracking softly. “What on earth is wrong with you- why would I be mad?”

“You’re…not?” Liah whispered, her hands hesitantly crossing behind her back in a way that made Zohra’s chest grow tighter in suppressed helplessness. What was she going to do, now? It had been over three months since she had reached Ba Sing Se, and she could no longer separate the city from Liah. Everything good about the Lower Ring was reflected in her roommate’s soft green eyes: from the rugged cheerfulness of its residents who saw no future beyond these walls, to their sheer determination to make a meager living, stay ahead, stay _safe_ from the nightmare the rest of the world had become. Without her, she could only imagine the bleakness of her first few days here, her heart still aching from her father’s loss, the terrifying realization that she was close to being entirely alone, maybe for the rest of her life.

Liah had offered a brief respite from the soul-crushing solitude- but now she was leaving, and it was _too soon_ , they hadn’t had enough time together- but Zohra _had_ to be happy for her, because who wouldn’t want to leave this place?

“This is what people work their whole lives for.” She swallowed the wedge of disappointment and fear lodged in the back of her throat, and barreled on, praying to all the spirits that her face betrayed none of it. “I’m happy for you- I really am.” She pulled away, wiping her damp fingers on the front of Liah’s tunic, which made her roll her eyes and flick Zohra in the center of her forehead, a weak laugh escaping her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, bringing a hand to her dimpled chin. “I couldn’t say no.”

“Did you at least ask for a raise?”

Liah laughed again, voice still tinged with anxiousness. “I’m appalled that you even had to ask.”

“We’ll celebrate,” Zohra said, assuming a tone of forced cheerfulness. Her inner flame felt crushingly dampened, and Zohra had to remind herself to breathe, to sound at least somewhat genuine at Liah’s news. “Tomorrow night, let’s go out and spend all your money.”

“That’ll be nice,” she said softly, sighing in relief- Zohra’s stomach turned again at the guilt Liah had forced upon herself on her behalf, because of _course_ she thought Zohra’s feelings mattered more than a chance at a better life. Zohra, who she had known for only a few months; who had nothing to offer her beyond a meager share of rent and some well-placed lies about her past and her present- Liah cared about her, enough to agonize over a decision that most other Lower Ring orphans would _kill_ for.

She didn’t deserve Liah; Zohra had always known it, and the universe was just making sure she did.

Liah broke the silence and her train of thought, her familiar voice causing her inner flame to pulse quicker. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” she replied quickly, planting her still-slimy hands on top of her friend’s head, resulting in a shriek that should have woken up every sleeping child in their building. “I’m going to be fine.”

She had a sparring session planned for tonight- all she could do was focus on the last thing that grounded her in this city, that stopped her head from spinning off her shoulders in despair.

It was a lot to place, especially on someone like Zuko, but it was all she had anymore.

* * *

Once they started sparring for real, with no mercy on her end for Zuko’s sake, he began to look for her weaknesses, her blind spots. Zohra was good, and she had more consistent training than he did, but she still lacked experience- he could tell by the way she always withdrew quickly from a fight after it was clear that he was about to strike a winning move, instead of trying to get back on top. She would usually end up outsmarting him, using her smaller frame to her advantage until he was almost slicing his own throat off- still, they were evenly matched when it came to technique, and Zuko had the upper hand in sheer determination to stay ahead.

There was a hesitation to her moves, especially when a round had carried on for too long-instinctively, he was sure it had nothing to do with a lack of skill or tenacity on her end. It dawned on him that it was probably because she hadn’t _had_ to fight with any real stakes involved- she was more sheltered than he was, her wit and technique dampened by the fear of inflicting any real harm on her opponent, or allowing them to turn excessive force on her. Before she came to the Lower Ring, she had probably never had to fight for _anything_ ; as much as Zohra believed herself to be an outcast, her life was still ordinary; parts of her felt unbelievably alien to Zuko, as much as they did share in common.

Of course, he could only allow himself to think any of this when he wasn’t faced with two wickedly sharp blades; he preferred to let his mind run empty, let his instinct with his Dao take over while they were sparring. All thoughts pertaining to Zohra’s past and present were reserved only for the tenuous privacy of his working hours, where the time seemed to pass much faster if he stayed as lost in thought as he possibly could while customers shouted for his attention.

Now, in the quiet air of the granary, he advanced against her on their third- and probably last, because she always called it off after the third- round, it was apparent to him as soon as they had started that he was going to win- she had started off too slow, and he had allowed himself to be relentless in his pursuit of winning tonight’s match, to make up for the past two days when she had won all three rounds against him.

He didn’t regret forcing her to confront what she was doing- it was so much better to fight properly, knowing she was as exhilarated as he was.

“Have you ever been to the open air market?”

He paused in confusion, for a fraction of a second- Zohra regained her footing and put up a strong defense with her Dao crossed in front of her, blocking what was supposed to be his final blow.

“They have a sale every week on scrap cloth, and the pieces are big enough to make a whole tunic with.”

_She’s trying to distract me._

He gritted his teeth in frustration as she advanced against him, her face contorted in effort but her voice pouring out softly, without strain- absolutely no traces of the fatigue of the fight she had been losing detectable. 

“I’m terrible at sewing, but I’m sure I could find someone to do it for cheap around here.”

 _This isn’t even_ allowed _in real sparring, she should know that-_

She easily blocked another blow to her right, an unnervingly cheerful smirk breaking her features as she slowly pushed him back.

“But it’s such a pain to go there, because everything is so _far away_ and I hate taking the rickshaws because the drivers are always so _creepy_ -“

_Why was it working?_

She’d knocked a sword cleanly out of his left hand.

“But it would be nice to have new clothes- might as well spend my money, right?”

He tried to sweep his remaining sword at her feet, aiming to throw her off balance; she stumbled back slightly but quickly regained a stronger stance, knees bent in anticipation for his next move.

“I’m talking like I have a lot of it, but this job is awful-” _Parry – “_ bad hours, no security, and my boss is a _pain.” Parry. “_ It’s better than nothing, though- I should be grateful.” _Strike._

_How could anyone be grateful for living here?_

“How much does a server at a teashop make? I bet doesn’t feel like enough“- _strike – “_ You’ve probably never _worked_ before you came here, right?”- _jab-_ “Must be tough.”

He was acutely aware that she thought those words should have been her final blow. Zohra consistently skirted around the edge of asking him something about his past- she probably thought a well aimed sneer at his former title would be enough to get him to freeze, to fumble just long enough to give her the upper hand. He ducked as she sliced across the air, abandoning all pretext of a fair sparring round as he threw his weight against her shoulder- effectively taking her by surprise and throwing her to the ground, his lone sword crossed over her chest so she wouldn’t be able to get back up.

“Not bad,” she said breathlessly, throwing her head gently against the floor in a show of defeat. “I thought you were dead meat by the time I got to the rickshaw drivers.”

“You’re not supposed to talk during a sparring round.”

She jumped to her feet as soon as Zuko withdrew his weapon. “Bodily contact isn’t allowed either, if we’re being _fair_ \- are you ready for that conversation?”

“You cheated first.”

“But you won.”

“It didn’t count,” he grumbled. “Re-match, now.”

“Lighten up, sensei,” she retorted, throwing her weapons to the side to stretch her arms over her head like she always did between sparring rounds. “Everything’s good.”

She said those words often: _Everything’s good. We’re doing alright. I’m fine with the way things are._ It felt less like conversation and more like self-affirmative mantras, more for her sake than his.

She noticed him scowling in thought and shook her head, strands of dark, damp hair escaping a hastily tied ponytail. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“You don’t _enjoy_ this,” she grumbled, gaze shifting between his and the stack of non-perishables behind him. “If you don’t want to keep this up, then you should leave.”

Panic- was it panic? -exploded inside his chest, and he was sure it showed on his face too, because Zohra’s expression softened, the knit in her brow relaxing as she regarded him struggling to choke out an response. “I never said that,” he rasped out, suddenly furious with himself for being incapable of stringing two words together that didn’t seem to offend her.

“Okay, then what am I doing wrong?”

“I didn’t say-“

“You always look at me like I’m going to…I don’t know, _kill_ you.”

“No, I don’t.”

“And then you do this _.”_

“What? I-”

“I don’t get it,” she grumbled, words spilling out faster now, her gaze still refusing to lock with his. “You just deny everything, like I’m stupid for thinking that you have any feelings about this at all.”

“That’s not what I’m-“

“I know you don’t want to talk about yourself, and I’m not going to force you to, but you can talk about _this,_ about sparring- don’t you like doing it?”

“I’m-“

“I know you _should_ , because you always want to keep going until _I_ say we should stop before one of us busts a muscle, but would it kill you to have an _opinion_ for once that I don’t have to pry for?” Her eyes rested on the bottom half of his face, unfocused, so that he had a better view of her brows as they softly arched upwards, unruly at the end of a night’s training session.

“You’re not stupid _._ ”

_…Why in Agni’s name did I start with that?_

“Forget it,” she said flatly, eyes dark in disappointment.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing- just-forget I said anything, okay?”

“I’m- I like the sparring, alright? Everything’s good.”

“Sure,” she intoned, turning around to pick up her weapons and sheathed them, her hands working slowly and deliberately. “Let’s take a break, tomorrow night- we’ll figure it out later.”

He bit his tongue, trying to figure out a way to salvage this- he didn’t like how she had said _later_ , leaving too much room for interpretation; what if they didn’t meet for days, for weeks? He couldn’t bear to think of that- he’d become dangerously used to his training sessions with her, and he didn’t _want_ to think of them stopping indefinitely- he needed to reassure her that he was fine, this was better than good, this was _great-_

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, her back still turned. “This isn’t about you.”

“…What?”

“Does it matter?” she said simply, voice cracking- she was holding back tears. When she finally turned to look at him, Zuko felt his stomach flip in concern; it was unnerving, to hear her so dejected. Zohra always assumed an air of nonchalance- even in anger or betrayal, her eyes had always remained cold and distant, her voice rising only when she needed it to. “It’s not a big deal, I just…I had a _terrible_ day, and I’m taking it out on you.”

“…do you want to talk about it?”


	15. Not Exactly Subtle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be a super long chapter spanning several days in the story but my mind will not let me rest...we are finally making progress with these dumbasses. I hope you guys like it! Please review and be as mean or as nice as you want, as long as people are reading + interacting with this i am motivated to continue it!

She must have heard him wrong.

“ _You_ want to talk?” she deadpanned, lip curling in a humorless smirk.

He frowned at her, but it resembled a pout more than anything else. “Yes.”

“Okay- I’ll bite,” she said clearly, searching for even a _hint_ of insincerity on his face- she wished she had another excuse to eviscerate him. To her dismay, there was none- was he actually being _nice_ to her? Zuko had demonstrated a strange sort of camaraderie- he was clearly comfortable enough risking arrest by the Dai Li while trying to get her (what was in his mind, anyway) to a better life. But, at the same time, he didn’t trust her enough to reveal anything about himself, except what she had extorted out of him back when _she_ didn’t trust him. It was confusing, to say the least- she never knew what to expect with him. “My roommate is leaving the Lower Ring, and I’m going to have to find another place and start all over again.”

“Why is she leaving the Lower Ring?”

“Her employers are stupid.”

She almost laughed at the confusion apparent on his face. “What?”

“Doesn’t matter why she’s leaving,” she said, an ache suddenly growing in her temples. “But she is, and I have to get used to it.”

 _You can get used to anything, Zohra- that doesn’t mean you_ should _._

Zuko didn’t respond- he probably didn’t know how to. She was impressed he had made it this far, and decided to elaborate to put him out of his agony. “I guess I…got used to having someone to rely on.”

He nodded curtly, but lines of confusion were still etched out on his face. She didn’t care anymore that he had caught her in a moment of vulnerability- it was all pointless, anyway. She knew that their sparring sessions were going to come to an end soon; why bother agonizing over what Zuko thought of her?

“She doesn’t know about any of this, of course,” Zohra muttered, gesturing in his direction. Her throat suddenly parched- why did neither of them ever think to bring a canteen to a training session? It was bad form to be ill-prepared in case one of them suddenly got dehydrated and passed out here mid-spar.

_You see what happens when you don’t take care of yourself, kiddo?_

She shook her head to get the memory out before continuing. “I haven’t even known her that long- I _should_ be happy for her.”

“What are you going to do?”

_Always have a plan- I didn’t, and look where it got me._

A laugh did escape her this time, like the dull screech of a sharpening stone against a blade- she decided she could no longer avoid the memory. “A year ago,” she began, her eyes carefully trained on Zuko for any signs of discomfort, “my father had an accident in the forge. It was a minor injury, and he wasn’t worried about it- he went to the healer alone to get it wrapped up. He’d wanted me to learn proper calligraphy, so I wasn’t with him in the mornings- we’d see each other for sparring at noon.

“When I got home, he was there, and… his hand was wrapped up, and I asked him if he was okay- I was just asking because of the bandages, because he seemed _fine_ otherwise, right? And you know what he said?” She paused, drawing in a breath, surprised her eyes were as dry as her throat- Zuko stared back at her intently, his gaze unwavering. “He said, _‘I went to the village doctor today- he said I’ll be dead by next year.’_

“I didn’t believe him, for the longest time- he’d said it like he was telling me the weather, like it was _normal_ to say something like that. I shrugged it off as just one of those things your parents do to freak you out, you know?”

Zuko’s expression confirmed that he did not know- she plowed on, thumbs absently tracing the outline of her own knuckles, all her energy directed into standing tall. “Four months later, he collapsed while he was working- I was there, this time, and I remember all I could think about was how much time I’d _wasted.”_

Another pause- the air inside the granary had suddenly grown colder from a draft, which made the hair on the back of her neck stand up _._ “I didn’t think I’d know what to do without him, for the longest time- I just wanted to disappear, because it felt like there was _nothing_ to live for,” she said, voice hollow and low and _tired._ “But I’m here now, because that’s what he wanted for me. I guess he’d be happy I didn’t stop trying, because that’s all he used to say- that I should never give up without a fight.”

Something flashed across his face- she didn’t dwell on it too long, and looked down at her leather-clad feet, the straps of her sandals peeling against a too-tight buckle.

“Some advice, right?” she scoffed, head too heavy on her shoulders. “I’m just _running_ \- that’s all I know.” She looked up at him again- his expression had softened into something she almost didn’t recognize. She felt a flush creep up her neck, at how _bizarre_ it was to be talking out loud about Dad- everything she told Liah was carefully censored, wiped clean of anything mildly incriminating of her true identity; her chest felt lighter at having finally spoken her frustrations out loud, even if Zuko was a less than ideal listener.

“I’m sorry about your father.”

She took note of how a knot of disappointment formed in the bottom of her stomach- but what else could he have said? A listless smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, the pain in her temples receding as she allowed herself to breathe deeper. “So,” she said airily, forcing the helplessness out of her tone, “did that answer your question?”

To her surprise, he snorted in laughter, as hollow as her own had been- she felt her smile travel further up. “Sort of,” he said, sheathing his swords but making no movement towards the door.

She nodded, searching for something to say that would downplay what she had just told him. Zuko spoke before she could: “You know calligraphy?”

She blinked in astonishment before a laugh escaped her- a real laugh this time that echoed softly through the granary, and left her chest aching as she struggled to suppress it so she could answer his real, perfectly innocuous question. He stared back at her, looking wounded- his brow was furrowed in confusion, as if he didn’t understand why this was such a ridiculous inquiry. “Yeah, I do,” she choked out, the hurt on Zuko’s face sending her into another peal of laughter. “I can’t believe you asked me that.”

“Why not?” he muttered, his cheeks tinged with red- she allowed herself a second to marvel at how different he looked when he wasn’t scowling. He suddenly seemed younger, his scar unable to distract her from the fact that he was _handsome_ \- like the impossibly fast, life-size ink-paintings the artists from the Fire Nation’s travelling circuses made, where they would bring to life the faces of long-suffering heroes from classic plays with a few strokes of a brush.

“It’s nice,” she said, still chuckling, forcibly interrupting her own thoughts. She was suddenly overtaken by an urge to reach forward and ruffle his hair, make it as disheveled as it possibly could be so he could keep looking like an affronted turtle-duck. Instinctively, she was also certain he would combust into flames if she actually did. “I’m glad you did- now you know who to talk to when you need a scribe.”

“Why would I need a scribe?”

“Do I need to say it?” she said airily, heart skipping a beat when she saw him open his mouth to retort- he quickly closed it again, pausing in thought.

He huffed, turning his head to the side. “You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to sneak in a question about my past- it’s not exactly subtle.”

“I’m not trying to be subtle.”

“Is that right,” he said dryly, his face still stuck halfway between a frown and a pout.

“Come on,” she grumbled, kicking at the debris on the floor- she would have to clean it up tomorrow, anyway. “Just tell me something fun- anything you want.”

“What makes you think any part of my life has been _fun?”_

“You’re such a grump,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. He didn’t respond to that- she figured he probably agreed with her.

“Tell me,” she said quickly, unwilling to lose the traction of an uninterrupted conversation, “about Master Piandao.”

“What about him?”

“I don’t know, anything- you said he’s a good teacher.”

“He is.”

“Well, tell me something else about him- where does he live?”

“Two islands away from the Cald- from the capital.”

“I know what the Caldera is,” she muttered, but bit her tongue when she realized he was still talking.

“He’s…nice,” Zuko said hesitantly, like she was going to chastise him for it. “I never felt nervous during his lessons. And, uh…he’s got a deep voice.”

She hummed in response, planting her hands on the edges of her makeshift stool to straighten her posture. “It’s weird,” she said softly, her thoughts suddenly fuzzy.

“What?”

“I spent so many years perfecting his technique, learning everything he had taught Dad down to the last breath- he probably doesn’t know I exist.” She paused, quickly searching for something else to ask him- she didn’t want to think too hard about Master Piandao right now. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Okay.”

“What’s up with your mask?”

“Nothing- what does that even mean?”

“Like, is that just your disguise? Isn’t it risky to be wearing something so recognizable?” Zuko’s face drained of color, and she wanted to kick herself for ruining what had, until now, been a perfectly cordial conversation.

“It’s….a long story,” he said slowly, his gaze shifting. She noticed him glance toward the door and sprang up to her feet, swords already sheathed and ready to leave- she felt like she had overstepped a boundary, but Zuko didn’t seem like he wanted an apology. She nodded at him, motioning for him to leave alongside her- he stayed rooted to his spot, his jaw clicking in thought.

“I’ll tell you about it later.”

She felt her features break in a grin that she had to fight to suppress, as they stalked out of the granary and fell into the shadows before diverging on their separate ways.


	16. My Dinner With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for being MIA for like...3 months. I promise it won't happen again :) This was originally going to be a much longer chapter, but I've split it into two parts because I wasn't happy with the second half just yet, but will try to post that within the next 10 days. These next couple of chapters are going to be pretty light, but please let me know if you're enjoying them!!! All reviews are cherished- thanks for being patient!

If there was anything Iroh missed about the Fire Nation, it was the tranquility of its sunsets- the capital came to a brief pause as the Fire Sages offered public prayers as the day grinded to a close and the sky colored a violent orange, followed by a demure pink and finally a timid purple before twilight fell. The land seemed to heave a sigh of relief as the working day drew to a close, and the air buzzed with the promise of evening festivities- weary citizens and princes found a moment to rest, to retire from duty and prepare for private lives.

In Ba Sing Se, sunsets brought a different kind of tranquility- the streets buzzed violently as the working day ended, but the crowds at the teashop thinned for some time as workers rushed home, eager to get a day’s grime off of them before emerging out on the town. Only the customers who took the art of the tea ceremony seriously filtered in at this time- they anticipated the emptiness of the shop and would saunter in to order the most expensive blends. But, of course, the customer that cared about the quality of their tea also cared about the quality of their service- they were usually the loudest with their disapproval for Zuko’s sullen demeanor as he lugged tray after tray of the finest porcelain cups, and came precariously close to splashing their contents on the patrons’ faces.

Iroh enjoyed twilight in Ba Sing Se- Zuko did not.

Today, his nephew seemed different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why he was so sure of it, but he knew something was wrong. Zuko looked more pensive than sullen, his scowl only emerging from a thoughtful frown if a customer complained too loudly about the service or the food. He supposed it might have something to do with the Orders’ continued silence on Iroh’s request- more than a week had passed, and a Fire Nation refugee continued to live secretly within Ba Sing Se’s guarded walls, with no one to ask after her.

Iroh wondered aimlessly about her origins- from the limited information that he had, he was half-sure that her father would have been from one of the villages in the Kasshuko islands; an impoverished corner of the Nation, which provided them with a limited crop of unappetizing finger fish, and the army with an even more limited supply of foot soldiers. Most of them died before they could be promoted to higher positions, effectively cutting their families off from the only real source of income the barren, volcano smattered islands had. They were sparsely populated and, curiously, almost entirely devoid of benders- Zohra would have been hailed as a token of good fortune, a child destined for greatness on the mainland, hands never forced to touch the steel of weighing scales or a dagger. She would have her bending for protection and power in a land that demanded both for bare survival.

Too much was lost in the Fire Nation in the name of greatness.

His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar shape of Zuko, nervous ripples of heat emanating off his form as he bounded towards the serving counter, his face set in disapproval. “Uncle, we have a problem. Don’t look now, but one of the customers is on to us- at the corner table” he whispered.

Iroh turned around to see who he was referring to until his gaze fell on a girl whom he had seen at the shop several times before; petite and disarmingly sweet-looking, her own gaze was fixed cautiously on Zuko, fingers drawing soft circles on the surface of the wooden table in front of her. Iroh smiled at her, which she returned quickly, dropping her head to sip at her second cup of ginseng tea. “Didn’t I say don’t look!” Zuko snapped quietly, teeth grinding in anxiety. “She knows we’re Fire Nation.”

It took him all his strength to bite back a chuckle- was his nephew really this daft?

“You’re right, Zuko,” he said seriously. “I’ve seen that girl in here quite a lot- seems to me she has quite a little crush on you.”

“ _What?!”_

* * *

Zohra had never thought much about food before she came to Ba Sing Se. For most of her life, meals were simple and fulfilling- non-perishable rice and dried lentils in mild spices- but never anything to get excited about. She’d always had enough of it to never worry about the possibility of a future deprived- the worst thing about the journey to Ba Sing Se was experiencing raw, painful, unbridled _hunger_ for the first time. When the ferry had finally docked, she quickly went through her meager savings spending on the cheapest bowls of jook she could stomach. It all changed the night she met Liah, who bought her a plate of spiced pig-chicken dumplings to celebrate their first night living together, and refused to accept money for it.

Suddenly, all she ever wanted was to eat, to sample as much as she could afford to. Ba Sing Se was awful in almost every way, but she had never tasted anything like what the city had to offer- it helped that her own income was supplemented by Liah’s who had an equally adventurous palette. On their last night out together, Zohra took advantage of her own new paycheck and Liah’s considerable savings to sample everything their neighborhood’s best diner had to offer.

The night continued as she had expected it to- she had already decided to push down all feelings of despair at her friend’s departure, and focus wholly on their one activity for the night- eating as many platters of small servings as they possibly could. She was determined to enjoy herself, to have something to look fondly on after Liah had left her and the Lower Ring for good.

The two of them ate in relative silence, only speaking to comment on the ridiculous fashions of the wealthier residents of the Lower Ring or relay another work anecdote. As they ate, Zohra thought she glimpsed Wuei out of the corner of her eye, slinking through the shadows, but quickly turned away- she didn’t want to think about anything remotely negative right now.

Suddenly, an all too familiar voice cut through the din. 

"She is _not_ my girlfriend!"

Zohra sent a silent prayer to the spirits- _please, please, please let that be_ anyone _else-_

“You’re kidding me,” Liah choked, eyes watering in laughter. She strained to look over Zohra's shoulder at the source of the outburst, which had caused the diner to become silent for a split second.

“What?” Zohra mumbled out through a mouthful of noodles, her stomach leaping towards her throat in defeat- _why did I have to run into him_ here?

“Look who managed to bag a date with the most coveted server in the Lower Ring,” she snickered, setting aside her chopsticks to focus fully on the unfortunate victims of her mirth. Zohra narrowed her eyes in mock confusion, and slowly turned her head over her shoulder until her eyes focused on the person she least wanted to see right now, when the night had been going so _normal._

“No way,” she replied, keeping her tone as detached as she could, quickly whipping her head back before he could see her. “Isn’t that something.”

“I’m going to go and say hi,” Liah said, her grin widening into a crescent of pure mischief.

“Don’t,” Zohra said warningly, her voice rapidly losing its cool.

“Why not?” she pouted, picking at her steamed shrimp.

“It’s none of our business,” she retorted, quickly shoving another bite into her mouth before she caught on to how desperate her tone had become.

“I’m friends with Jin and I’m leaving in a couple of days; I may never see her, or her date, ever again. How much damage could I do?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“Don’t be a square- you can stay here, if you don’t want to come.”

“I don’t,” she said quickly, averting her gaze- the last thing she needed was for Zuko to jump out of his skin at the sight of her in a non-sparring context, and rouse Liah’s suspicions right before she was leaving.

“Fine,” Liah grumbled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Buzzkill.”

Zohra kept her head down, breathing deeply, wondering how it was possible that she ran into him here, of all places- with _Jin_ , of all people. Not that she had anything against Jin; she was sweet, almost saccharine, and Zohra didn’t doubt her intentions- she was more concerned about how much longer the poor girl could stand the one-syllable answers Zuko would invariably be giving her.

She sat hunched over the table as Liah sauntered towards them- her stomach turned dangerously in protest, and she allowed herself to nudge towards the edge of her seat so she could turn an ear towards the on-going disaster of a conversation. She couldn’t make out most of the words, but it seemed to her that she could _feel_ Zuko’s abject discomfort against her skin, making her hair stand on edge and giving her the strange urge to laugh out loud.

Just as she could no longer stand it anymore, she whipped around to quickly survey the scene- at the very same moment, Zuko’s gaze shifted from the floor towards her, which almost made her yelp in surprise. She turned away, feeling her ears turn hot- why was _she_ embarrassed? It wasn’t like she was the one caught in the middle of a painfully awkward date- she defiantly looked towards him again, and realized that he was still staring at her, his expression halfway between bewilderment and fear as Liah and Jin chatted away, both oblivious to her and Zuko’s silent staring match.

She turned away cautiously, praying for the moment to pass and for Liah to return without comment.

 _Of course_ , it couldn’t have been that easy.


	17. ...Lee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super happy with how this turned out, so might edit it in the future. Please review, they make my day- I'm still super invested in the story, so you can definitely count on updates (though I can't promise how consistent they'll be), but it's great to hear from anyone who's still reading this/new readers who stumbled upon it! 
> 
> Sidenote, things are about to amp up from the next chapter, and we're finally going to start making progress towards the end of Book 2 and Zuko leaving the Lower Ring- super excited to start writing about that!

He was cursed- there was no other explanation for this.

As if this _date_ wasn’t torture enough- he couldn’t believe Uncle had talked him into it. Scratch that- Uncle had _conned_ him into it, said yes for him, and then forced him to look at himself in the mirror and slicked his hair down for him in a way that had probably been fashionable twenty or thirty years ago. Jin had burst into laughter at the sight of him- Zuko was equal parts mortified and relieved when she reached forward to mess up Uncle’s painstaking work and restore it to its usual state of Lower Ring dishevelment.

Jin was…not what he had been expecting. In fact, he was sure that if his life had been in a slightly better place, he would have half enjoyed talking to her. She was pretty in a soft, gentle kind of way- he wasn’t quite sure how to look at her without staring, so he kept his eyes trained squarely at his food (which was remarkably _good_ \- he had been subjected only to the teashop’s stale leftovers and Uncle’s uninspired jook for the past few weeks, and had almost forgotten what real, spiced meat was supposed to taste like) until he was forced to glance up, wincing at his own incompetence. Zuko wondered if he had ever been asked as incessantly about his _hobbies_ before tonight- Jin talked easily, never letting him off the hook. No amount of silent glares or one-syllable mutterings could give her the idea that he wasn’t sure he had any hobbies, or what a hobby even was. At the palace, all anyone wanted to know was what he had already accomplished; on the Wani, all anyone wanted to know was which way and when to leave for another bleak destination in search of the Avatar. In Ba Sing Se, the only questions he was confronted with were Uncle’s, which he had no problem with blatantly ignoring- there was one other person he’d talked to in this wretched city, and she sat ten feet across from him at another table, her posture relaxed and her laughter easily wafting through the diner.

He ate quickly, hoping to leave before Zohra could notice him; as the waiter approached them and genially asked whether _his girlfriend_ would like some dessert, the string of tension slowly developing within his throat snapped.

“She is _not_ my girlfriend!”

It came out a lot louder than he had meant it to- the diner went silent for a beat, and he waited for it to return to its usual racket before hesitantly looking towards Jin again, expecting at least an affronted glare- instead, she slurped away at her bowl of noodles, completely unfazed. It took several more seconds for him to realize that if he had really spoken loud enough to be heard by everyone, then that meant-

“Jin, hello! It’s so good to see you!”

His heart somersaulted in his chest several times over, until he wasn’t sure if it was still beating- he recognized that voice, he knew exactly who was standing by his side before he could even look up at her.

“Hey, Liah! It’s good to see you too, I heard you got a promotion- are you really leaving?”

“Yeah, at the end of this week- that’s why I came over, I wasn’t sure I was going to see you again.”

“I’m glad you did- oh, I don’t mean to be rude- this is Lee,” Jin said, motioning towards Zuko, who ostentatiously stared at his empty bowl, wishing he could shrink himself down and disappear within it.

“Hi, Lee- I think we’ve met before.” She waited for Zuko to acknowledge her with a hesitant nod before leaning towards Jin’s ear and saying her next words in a loud whisper: “You bagged a good one, Jin _.”_

His ears burned from the inside out- before he could fully recover from whatever _that_ was, Liah threw her head back and laughed loudly, turning several heads in the diner.

“Who are _you_ here with, Liah?” Jin said suggestively, straining to look over Zuko’s shoulder.

“No one exciting- it’s just me and Zohra, we wanted to spend some time together before I left.”

He clutched harder at his cup of green tea, praying for the moment to end. 

“Oh, call her over- you two can join us for dessert!”

 _This is it,_ he thought to himself hollowly- _this is the worst possible way this night could have gone- Azula bursting through these doors would be a welcome sight._

He glanced away from the train wreck taking place before his very eyes and was startled to see Zohra staring towards them- she turned away with a start when their gazes met, and he quickly looked in the other direction, praying for Liah to refuse.

“Zohra, come over here! Jin wants us to join them for dessert!”

He appreciated her for hesitating, at least- her inner flame was deliberately subdued but still pulsed unnaturally fast, growing stronger as she approached their table, her eyes deliberately refusing to settle on him. “Hey, Jin,” she said, her friend by the elbow before she could sit. Zuko could feel the nervous energy radiating off her, but no one else seemed to notice. “Thanks for offering, but we shouldn’t be _interrupting_ you two- Liah has no sense of propriety.”

Liah pouted at Zohra and waved at Jin sadly as Zohra dragged her away, clearly disappointed that she couldn’t manage to cause more mayhem than she already had. He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, thankful to whatever force in the universe had allowed for the tension to diffuse and the night to return back to normal.

He hoped the whole affair would never be brought up again during sparring sessions- though, he had to admit that it would be an excellent talking point for her to distract him with mid duel. He could almost hear her sly taunt through their clashing blades: “ _What did you tell her about where you were from- let me guess, you said you ‘travelled with the circus’, right?”_

“Sorry about that,” Jin said sheepishly, thankfully interrupting his inner monologue before he started banging his head against the table. He shrugged at her, and mumbled out a “It’s fine,” still focused on his fingernails to avoid meeting her gaze directly.

“So, Lee,” she continued, after an awkward silence as Zuko refused to eat another bite- his stomach was still turning dangerously from the encounter. “Where were you and your Uncle living before you came here?”

 _Go on,_ Zohra’s voice echoed inside his head as he scrambled for an answer- _you probably deserve this, you know._

* * *

They had agreed not to meet, tonight- Zohra snuck out towards the granary anyway, determined to work off some steam in private, away from the implicit expectations dueling with Zuko brought along with it. He was too good to let her guard down in front of, and she realized she missed having the upper hand, as she’d usually had with her father- she missed the improvisational aspect of dueling with someone who you were sure would never hurt you, even on accident. It had been a while since she had swung her blades around aimlessly, and she needed a night of quiet exercise to feel like herself, before she could face Zuko again.

She spent a few minutes stretching herself out on the cleanest corner of the floor, already gently defiled by the ever present rodent situation- her Dao were showing signs of wear after several nights of uninterrupted use, and she spent nearly an hour sharpening them with one of the stones stashed in the granary, alongside a myriad of other tools no one ever used.

Just as she picked up her newly sharpened weapons, hands welcoming the familiar weight, her stomach shot up to her throat at the sound of the lock rattling- someone was trying to, and failing, to remember the lock pattern.

She stood rooted to her spot for a second, scrambling to figure out an excuse if the intruder happened to be Wuei. But no, it couldn’t be him- he knew the combination better than she did, and it wouldn’t have taken him this long to figure out how to open a stupid door.

_Oh, for spirits’ sake-_

“Thanks,” Zuko said shortly when she yanked the door open for him, his face partially covered by the collar of his tunic. She realized with a start that he was unarmed and unmasked, which was suspicious- she’d never seen him here without his weapons.

“Why are you here?”

He paused, eyes narrowing. She almost apologized for her caustic tone, but swallowed it back down- he was interrupting her, and he knew it. “I can leave.”

“No, that’s not what I- whatever,” she grumbled, sheathing her swords. “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

He glared at her for a second, but quickly averted his gaze, shaking his head until his face was uncovered. “I have to tell you something.”

“We weren’t supposed to meet tonight.”

“I went by your place first- you weren’t there.”

_Stupid inner flame._

“Well, what was _so_ important that you had to tell me right away?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Just tell me.”

“I’m…I think Jin knows I’m a firebender.”

She let the confession wash over as her lungs refused to fill with air. “No,” she whispered, gripping the hilt of her Dao in frustration. “ _How?”_

“I…may have lit the lanterns at the fountain in front of her.”

“You lit the lanterns at the fountain,” she repeated, still unsure of how to react. _There’s a fountain in the Lower Ring?_

“Well, she didn’t _see_ me do it, but…”

 _She took him to a fountain, and he lit the lanterns for her_?

“What?” she said hoarsely, her throat threatening to close up. “Why did you do it?”

He blatantly ignored her next question, his face red enough to match his scar. “I don’t think she’s going to say anything- and I’m also pretty sure she never wants to see me again.”

“Well, could you blame her?” she snapped, turning away- _This is bad, this is not good- what if he gets caught? If Jin puts two and two together, it’s only a matter of time before the Dai Li figure it out-_

“No,” he said seriously, and she wished she was holding anything else but her swords, right now- she’d never come closer to attacking someone unarmed, before, and wasn’t sure how to handle someone else’s severed fingers. “I promise nothing’s going to happen, I just wanted you to know in case-“

“Oh, you _promise?”_ she snapped, still turned away from him- her eyes prickled with tears in frustration, in fear, in _hatred_ \- how could he let this happen? “You _promise_ everything’s going to be okay? Don’t you get where we _are-_ if you’re caught, then you’re _gone-_ the Dai Li don’t take kindly to _firebenders_ within city limits, you know.”

She couldn’t see his face, but she could tell exactly what he would be looking like right now- halfway between unjustified anger and barely constrained sheepishness- how could he have messed up this badly?

“I’m sorry.”

“Now what,” she said slowly, turning around to face him- she decided that there was nothing she could do, no course of action that could be taken to fix this- how could he be so _reckless?_ Zuko stood to lose a lot more than she did- if anything, at least she could make the case that her father had been a traitor, that she had never stepped foot on enemy grounds if they were caught by the Dai Li- Zuko was the _Fire Lord’s son,_ hiding out in the city with the man who had come closer than anyone else to burning it to the ground.

“Nothing,” he said, almost apologetically. “Nothing’s going to happen- I just thought you should know.”

“Well, thanks,” she drawled, dropping her weapons and bringing her hands to her temples. “This is really going to help me sleep better at night.”

“Would you rather I didn’t tell you?” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“ _Yes._ I’d prefer not knowing how _stupid_ you are- how did you even make it this far,” she snapped back, her fingertips threatening to let flames loose. “Couldn’t hold it together through _one_ date, Your Highness?”

He flushed darker than she thought possible- she felt a twinge of smugness tug at the corners of her mouth. “She won’t say anything,” Zuko said quietly. “I just figured… you’d want to know, in case something happened.”

Against her will, the fight seemed to deflate out of her- he seemed genuinely convinced that nothing could go wrong and she had no choice but to trust him on it, as infuriating as it was. It occurred to her that he hadn't even considered the possibility of _her_ getting in trouble; and, why would he? There was no way anyone would ever suspect her- she was being selfish, worrying only about herself when Zuko was the one in real danger.

Now that she thought about it...Jin was more than capable of knowing when to keep her mouth shut. Lower Ring refugees abided by a strict code of conduct, an unspoken agreement about never involving the Dai Li in anything that wasn't particularly life-threatening. Zuko must have given her reason to not be afraid of him- she'd have to take his word for it.

_What on earth happened on that date?_

“Okay,” she said, sighing in defeat. “Well, if you’re _sure_ -”

“I am,” he said quickly, relieved.

“Not so fast,” she said evenly, as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking for an opening to leave. “Since you’ve already ruined the rest of my week, you can make it up to me by telling me _what_ happened tonight.”

“What?” he choked out, suddenly going white- she fought back a grin at his discomfort.

“You went on a date with Jin- which is, frankly, funny enough on its own- and then you _lit lanterns_ for her?”

The granary went deathly quiet, interrupted only by the sound of Zuko’s shallow breathing- she could feel nervousness radiate off of him, his mouth twisted in horror.

“You have _got_ to tell me what led to that,” she said breezily, picking up her sheathed swords and easily flipping them low, giving Zuko a visual reminder of which of them was armed tonight. “And _then_ , we’re even.”

He opened his mouth, perhaps to ask what exactly they were even for, but closed it again- probably realizing that he didn’t have a way out of this.

“Fine,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll tell you, on the condition that we _never_ speak about it again.”

“Of course,” she said easily, the tension draining out of her shoulders. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”


	18. Should have stopped me when I called you weird.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinda filler, but whatever- needed to get something out. Please review, I love to see them!

The next morning, Zuko stared at the crack in the ceiling for what felt like hours as the sun spilled over the horizon, waiting for Uncle to call out that it was time for them to leave for work.

_We’ve been here for four weeks._

Four weeks of hard labor for money that was spent entirely on the barest of necessities, with only a few copper pieces left over at the end. Money that Zuko didn’t care for anyway, because there was nothing the city could offer him- Uncle extracted some joy in spending it on knick knacks, chili oil for their bland meals, flowers for a drab living space, or cheap souvenirs (as if they were tourists here, as if the Lower Ring could be considered a place anyone would want to be in for anything but pure necessity). To Uncle, this was it- this life in the dirt, working at a barely held-together tea shop was their fate, and he was either resigned to it or privately pleased about it; Zuko wasn’t sure which was worse.

To top it off, he could feel himself getting used to it, too- he no longer felt constantly restless, no longer felt the hunger for something more than what he currently had. He’d stopped thinking about Azula, about the Avatar, about home- the long list of things that he should have been running from or pining for, that used to fill every corner of his mind until his head felt close to splitting…they were slowly leaking out.

He wasn’t sure what to do with the empty space.

They hadn’t heard back from the Order- he’d been forced to stop agonizing over that, too. Zohra couldn’t be helped, couldn’t be whisked out of here to the life she was supposed to have- he’d failed that mission, and disappointment was replaced with abject hollowness.

Not that she would care- he knew she hadn’t taken him seriously, anyway.

But really, after last night, he wasn’t so sure of her. When he’d first confessed to firebending in public, he’d expected rage- she had delivered on that, but it was short lived, which he was grateful for. She still made him pay for it, though, by demanding gory details of the whole affair which he was forced to submit to through clenched teeth. She’d laughed when he pinned the evening on Uncle saying yes to Jin for him- she’d put her head to one side and squinted when he said he’d never had herbed pig-chicken noodles before Jin ordered them for him- she’d wrinkled her nose in horror when he described what the conversation had been like for most of the evening. Her expression only became unreadable when he reached the mortifying ordeal of the deserted, un-lit fountain, and his (undoubtedly, stupid) decision to light them because Jin looked _disappointed_. He wondered what she thought of him, for kissing her and running away like that- her grin of pure malice had softened into a look of wide-eyed astonishment when he reached the end of that disastrous tale. He’d expected more sneering, some well placed jibes at his incompetence, but she declined to say anything truly caustic, instead settling for a “ _You know you’re going to have an awful reputation now, right? No girl in the neighborhood wants to be caught within ten feet of weird boys with secret pyrotechnic abilities.”_

_“You mean firebenders.”_

_“Should have stopped me when I called you weird.”_

There wasn’t much to correct in her assessment.

* * *

No word from the Order; Wuei began to feel that he’d entirely imagined his role as glorified carrier pigeon

No more details on the new workers at Pao’s tea shop- he was being forced to honor some code of total confidentiality, and it was eating away at him.

Liah sauntered out of the Lower Ring for good- he shouldn’t have been surprised because a girl like her didn’t belong in the pits, but he felt some hopelessness crawl up his spine at her departure.

Once again, his life seemed to hang in the precarious balance of someone else’s handiwork- there wasn’t much to do but wait.

* * *

The days leading up to Liah’s departure passed in a blur. Work was monotonous and over as quickly as it started, which she was thankful for; the weather took a turn for the worse, settling for an idyllic humidity combined with overcast skies that made her feel permanently on edge; Liah prepared to leave, he excitement dampened only by Zohra’s constrained smiles, her total inability to look truly happy for her.

And every night, without fail, she would sneak away towards the granary, eager for another sparring match. Though those matches were spent with both of them completely tight lipped, she had come to a definitive conclusion that she didn’t know Zuko as well as she thought. Not that it was a particularly high bar in the first place- he very pointedly refused to tell her exact details of how he had ended up here, no matter how much information about herself she spewed out, hoping for some reciprocation. Still, she believed herself to be a fair judge of character- even if she didn’t know anything about his past or his present, she thought she knew what kind of person he was: angry, stubborn, strange and awkward.

After his constrained detailing of that uncomfortable night, she’d been forced to make room for new descriptors; he put himself in the worst kind of danger to alleviate Jin’s casual _disappointment_ about unlit lanterns. Sure, it was stupid- _he_ was stupid, and she was letting him off the hook a little too easily on that-but, at the same time, it was strangely endearing that he would go through the trouble for some girl he had no intention of ever seeing again.

The image of Zuko she’d built in her head over nearly three weeks of encounters would never have reason to say the word _kiss_ out loud; he couldn’t do something entirely unselfish, without a deal attached to it; he wasn’t capable of being _nice._ It had made her a little more wary of him, distressed that something unspoken had changed between them- she felt restless in a way that was entirely unfamiliar.

She’d have to do something about it.

* * *

Uncle was on the verge of begging him to take a break- Zuko wouldn’t hear of it. There was even less to do when he wasn’t lugging trays, wiping tables or taking down orders- he’d take the burnout over the boredom, any day.

He waved him off again at midday, when the shop was empty except for a lone construction worker off duty- Uncle shook his head disapprovingly at him from the window separating the kitchen and the shop, no doubt disappointed in Zuko’s total inability to take orders that he didn’t feel the need to follow.

_There’s a quiet dignity in doing what needs to be done, nephew- that doesn’t mean you can’t rest along the way._

He was prepared to roll his eyes back at Uncle, but decided to spare him the effort of a lecture- he took an empty seat at the corner table, determined to spring to his feet the second a new customer walked in.

When the doors swung open some minutes later, he was already tugging his apron back on before he realized who it was. Zohra strode towards the middle of the shop, her gaze sweeping from left to right until narrowed brown eyes fell on him as he guiltily stood in the corner. Panic quickly settled at the bottom of his stomach- she wouldn’t come here to be seen with him in broad daylight, unless something had gone horribly wrong.

_What did I screw up?_

“Are you taking a break?”

It took him a while to respond. “Yes- why are you here?”

She ignored his question and sat opposite him- why did she look different today? It took him several seconds of staring to realize that her hair was loose, falling in a gentle wave down to her shoulders, the fringe across her forehead parted down the middle and making her look softer, less severe. He wondered if she knew exactly how effective this disguise was; if she hadn’t talked to him, or had an inner flame loud enough to match his own, he probably wouldn’t have recognized her at all.

“Is it okay if I order something- it’ll look less suspicious, right?”

She didn’t specify what she wanted- he figured it didn’t really matter and marched over to towards the kitchen, shooting Uncle a look- he sharply turned towards Zohra, his eyes widening in recognition before the lines in his face eased again when he saw him looking confused rather than concerned. “Do you need something?” he asked genially as Zuko grabbed a still-warm slice of tea cake from the cooling rack in the kitchen, the same thing she had asked for last time she had come here. It cracked in half as he dumped it on a serving plate.

Back still turned, he shrugged in response to Uncle’s question- he followed him into the kitchen, awaiting further instructions. Zuko stared at him blankly- he realized he had none.

“She hasn’t told me why she’s here.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?”

He shifted his gaze, unsure.

Uncle shuffled away until he wasn’t blocking the doorway, giving Zuko space to slide through, his hands held steady only by the weight of the serving platter he carried.

“Thanks,” she said shortly as he placed it in front of her, his heart rate steadily increasing. She was the lone customer, for the time being. He wondered what the odds of that were; had she been tracking the traffic of this place? “You can sit,” she said awkwardly, gaze fixed on the table as she gingerly broke off pieces of her cake and arranged them on the plate like a row of soldiers.

“Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Can you just sit down?” she snapped, looking up at him- he complied, still not sure of where this was going. “Is your Uncle here?”

“Yes.”

“Good, so you know I’m not going to do anything particularly devastating.”

He frowned- what did that mean? “What does Uncle have to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” she huffed, leaning back to look at him again, expression softening. “I mean, I’m not here to give bad news.”

“Okay-”

“And I don’t want this to be a whole _thing_ , but- I can’t keep this up, unless we stop acting like this.”

_Acting like what?_

“Don’t say _what_ ,” she groaned before he could voice his confusion, still crumbling her cake into neat, bite sized pieces. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

She stared at him in bafflement- he almost wished it had been something real, instead of whatever this was. “Fine,” she said carefully, her voice dropping until he could barely hear her. “I’m saying, we need to start acting like normal people.” He waited for her to continue, which she did after a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t know anything about you- and, given the circumstances, I’m willing to live with that- but I can’t just spend half my waking hours sparring with someone who never talks to me otherwise.”

He almost asked her why- by the set of her jaw, he could tell that wouldn’t have been the right response. “Okay.”

“I don’t have any friends left here, anymore-so, if you’re okay with it,” she said, looking at a point beyond his shoulder. “I’m going to ask you to speak, sometimes.”

_Speak?_

“Speak, like,” she continued, reading his confusion, “You have to answer questions that aren’t particularly invasive- sound good?”

He still had no clue what she was talking about- but his heart wasn’t hammering against his chest at the idea, and he didn’t really have a reason to deny that request. “I guess-“

“Good,” she declared, scooping up the cake crumbs off her plate and shoving them into her mouth at once. She waited until she was finished chewing, and said, “Then, I’m going to go- I’ll see you tonight.”

“Alright,” he said slowly, still unsure of what had just happened.

"Say hello to your Uncle to me," she said quickly as she walked out- when he looked down at the table, she’d left enough coins to pay for the most expensive tea blend on the menu. He swiped it all up and deposited the amount needed in the cash register, pocketing the rest to return to her- he could already hear her response at this echoing through his head. _What? It was a tip well deserved for your stellar waitressing._


	19. Getting the hang of this, aren't we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff? In MY fanfiction? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter!! I wrote it in a couple of hours, and I'm so excited to find out what all my lovely readers think of these two dumbasses FINALLY speaking to each other. Reviews are always appreciated and in this case necessary, because I had to arrange separate conversations from different days around so they flowed coherently and I'm not 100% sure I did a good job. Thanks for sticking with the story- we're getting to the juicy parts, finally!

“So,” she began easily, pushing the damp hair back from her face, skin shining with sweat in the warm air of the granary. “How was work, today?”

He tried to come up with the least offensive answer: “It was fine.”

“Okay, I clearly shouldn’t have let you start,” she groaned, furrowing her brow. “I’ll go first: I had a perfectly average day at work.” She pointed at the tower of jute sacks behind him, and said, “That’s a new shipment that came in today- it’s the grain Upper Ring merchants refused to sell, so it filtered down to us. It was a pain to unload, and I hope it gets infested by weevils.”

“That’s just a fancy way of saying _fine_ ,” he muttered, surprised at how easily the retort came to him.

She blinked slowly before a smile stretched her face. “Good- you’ll get the hang of this in no time.”

* * *

A storm took over the city again to loudly signal the end of the season- at least, that’s what Uncle had described it as. He pretended not to notice Zuko climbing out the window anyway, donning his Blue Spirit mask only when he was out of Uncle’s line of sight. He almost sprinted to the granary in an effort to outrun the storm, but still arrived soaking wet. The air was too warm, too sickly-sweet- it seemed to settle into his lungs and stay there instead of escaping when he exhaled, making him feel permanently light headed.

Zohra looked disgruntled too, trudging towards the granary just a few steps ahead of him - she’d had a little more foresight than him and brought a child’s parasol that offered some brief respite from the rain, leaving some of her upper body dry. He bit back a jab at her choice of accessory, since parasols were designed for shade from the sun, not from pelting rain- he knew that she’d probably gotten it on bargain from some travelling hawker, and didn’t have much of a choice in what she did and didn’t own.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget how _poor_ they both were- he’d never imagined he’d have to live hand to mouth as he and Uncle currently did, and he had a feeling that Zohra didn’t either. She’d clearly grown up not having to worry about money, even if her life wasn’t steeped in luxury- he could tell from the way she frowned when she talked about her job, like she couldn’t believe how little her labor here was worth.

“Not fair that you can do that,” she grumbled, as he let the damp from his clothes evaporate in a soft wisp of steam. He almost smirked, but held himself back- he didn’t trust her not to attack him if he showed even a hint of superiority at his bending.

“It never rains like this in the Fire Nation,” he said instead, as genially as possible. “Rain is supposed to be cold.”

“Isn’t the Fire Nation warm, too?” she said, spinning the parasol to dry it out.

“Well, yeah- but it always gets colder when it rains.” He paused, racking his brain for the right description. “And it doesn’t last this long- it’s always heavy, and we get maybe twice the water in half the time.”

“Dad used to say they had festivals, to celebrate the monsoon- a big feast for the whole family during the first shower.” She looked up at him, eyes narrowed in disbelief, and said, “Do you people really enjoy _rain_ that much?”

He did enjoy the monsoon back home. The palace would be abuzz with activity as servants scrambled to serve the customary fried dumplings before the showers stopped abruptly. Subsequent showers of the season were marked by slightly less frenzy, and he’d have time to enjoy himself instead of just preparing for the feast. He and Azula would race each other through the courtyards, getting soaked to the bone until they noticed mother approaching- when Lu Ten was around, he would dry them off before they presented themselves to the adults to avoid any possible lectures on the dangers of catching a sudden chill from the rain.

He felt a shiver run up his spine at this memory.

“It’s different there,” he said, a trace of wistfulness sneaking into his voice. “Hard to explain why, I guess.”

She continued twirling the parasol, her swords still strapped to her back. “Do you miss it?”

It was a perfectly innocuous question- there was no hint of interrogation behind her words, and the answer escaped him earnestly, before he could think twice. “Yeah, I do.”

* * *

He spoke often enough about his uncle- a throwaway comment about his antics at the markets, his inexplicable love for tea that Zuko seemed unable to ever understand, his often repeated proverbs for the most mundane of life’s obstacles. Zohra had to hold back a chuckle every time he went on an unneeded rant about how much the General aggravated him- the only time Zuko talked animatedly was when he complained about Iroh.

She had to keep reminding herself who he was really referring to- this was the Dragon of the West, undercover in Ba Sing Se for some unidentified reason that she was resigned to never find out about. His nephew’s colorful descriptions of his quirks and subtle wisdom had to be taken with a grain of salt, because it was becoming hard to believe that he was the same man that had caused all that unneeded carnage, when he’d carried out the extended siege against the city. Granted, it had been a windfall for her father’s forge, and they were both loathe to admit it at the time but those funds had gotten them through the leaner months some years later as Dad became more and more frail and Zohra struggled to keep up with customers.

She shook her head to get the memory out and crossed her hands over her lap, leaning against the wall from her clean spot on the floor. A question hung on the tip of her tongue, one that she had forced herself to bite back several times before, but noticing Zuko’s strangely open expression at the time, she ventured it anyway: “What does he think about me?”

“What?”

“Your uncle- what does he have to say about this?” she said, motioning around them.

He frowned, sitting up straighter. “Nothing- he’s probably just glad I’m doing _this_ , instead of something riskier.”

It was like he was resigned to putting himself in danger, purely out of choice- she opened her mouth to retort, but he was still talking: “He likes you, though.”

She felt her chest swell with pride at that piece of information. “Really? He said that?”

“Well, no- he likes everyone,” Zuko professed, which caused her to roll her eyes. “But…he asks me if you’re doing alright- if you ever need help.”

“Help with what?”

“Anything,” he mumbled, ears suddenly pink. “He says…you must be pretty lonely, living here.”

She stared back at him, unsure of how to affirm his suspicion without sounding needlessly pathetic. “And…him saying that means he likes me?”

“It means he thinks about you,” Zuko said, shifting his gaze. “And that he knows how to help. For Uncle…that’s how easy it is.”

She pondered over this for a few seconds, thinking back to her first and only meeting with the General. He’d been courteous, exceedingly warm and easygoing despite the heavy subject matter they’d been forced to discuss- she almost wished she could speak with him again, free of pretense. She studied Zuko carefully, thinking of the best way to verbalize what she knew he was getting at without sounding to presumptuous. “You can tell him,” she began slowly, keeping all hints of irony out of her voice, “that I’d like to meet him again, if he wants.”

Zuko looked simultaneously relieved and embarrassed- she knew she’d read the situation correctly, and sighed in relief.

* * *

He hadn't expected his nephew to relay his message of an invitation, but Zuko had been surprising him, these days. Zohra dropped by the shop openly, now- there was no longer an air of secrecy or tension between her and Zuko. She talked to Iroh easily, seated herself at the counter and hurriedly ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, which he made sure to supplement with an expensive tea blend that he would quickly announce to be “on the house”.

He would never tire of saying that, and seeing a customer’s face light up in unbridled gratitude. He also never tired of talking to Zohra, who was an entirely different person than when he had first met her- she held no suspicion in her stance, and her expression was always bright, curious, interested in what Iroh had to say. It was refreshing, to speak to a young person who didn’t roll their eyes at every other word he uttered- he made a mental note to ask her over for dinner, where they could speak openly, without the prying eyes of the teashop pressing down on them.

They spoke mostly about the mundane parts of city life, their topics of conversation limited to what would be considered legal in this part of town. She was a little stilted when she spoke, but he knew that was more his fault than hers; even so, she was a delightful companion, and he immediately understood why her and Zuko seemed to get along. She had a wry, easy sense of humor and a total inability to take his nephew seriously- it was exactly what he needed from Iroh, too, before he allowed himself to open up.

* * *

She’s not sure when he started talking about his family.

It was always something ridiculously vague- she knew his father was the Firelord and Zuko barely acknowledges him for…obvious reasons. But, she also learned that he has a sister, and a mother who is either alive or isn’t; Zuko doesn’t seem sure himself, because he oscillates between referring to her in past tense and then in present.

She doesn’t know which way to look when his eyes glaze over, and the words seem to escape him before he can stop himself.

Slowly, some pieces of his past begin to come together for her- she doesn’t know how to tell him how sorry she is, about all of it- even the things that don’t really make sense.

Instead, she listens as nonchalantly as she can, desperate to not scare him away- it worked, most of the time, but sometimes he picks up on her discomfort and shuts himself off, like he’s been caught doing something wrong.

Amidst all this, she’s still doesn't know where his Uncle fits in, or why he’s here with him. She’s not sure she wants to- she likes the General as he is, for now.

* * *

“I like the new clothes.”

He scowled, entirely thrown off. “No, you don’t.”

“Wrong answer.”

“You didn’t even ask a question-“

“For someone who grew up in a palace, you sure don’t know how to take a compliment.”

He chose to ignore that quip about growing up in a palace. “These aren’t good clothes.”

“You could have just said thank you- it would be a lot more painless.”

“ _You_ just talk for the sake of talking.”

She cocked her head to the side and paused for several seconds, mulling over a response. “You take yourself too seriously, you know.”

Her words held an air of finality- he didn’t bother defending himself

* * *

“You know, I’ve never seen the ocean.”

“ _What?”_

“I mean, I had to get on the ferry to come here, but that’s a saltwater lake, so not really the same thing.”

“No, it’s not- you’ve seriously never been on a beach?”

“Personally, I don’t get what the fuss is about- it’s just water and sand, isn’t it?”

His face flushed indignantly, ridiculously- she laughed out loud at his expression, triumphant that she’d managed to get under his skin with that.

* * *

“Your stance is wrong,” she announced, closely inspecting his shoulders as he stood stationary, swords still quivering in front of him. “Throw your chest forward- this is an attacking pose, you’re not supposed to hold back.”

He tried to follow along, but it felt wrong- where Zohra looked intimidating holding the same position, he knew he looked ridiculous, too self important, like he had more bark than bite. “I’m putting too much strength into it if I hold it like that,” he argued, reverting to his original stance.

“There’s nothing wrong with putting the effort in,” she replied easily, and he wondered how long he’d been waiting to hear that piece of advice. For most of his life, all anyone would try to do was convince him that things _weren’t_ worth the effort. Whether that came from Uncle’s stab at trying to get him to go easier on himself, or Azula’s sneer at how much harder he had to work to do things that came effortlessly to her; he’s put in the work anyway, but never felt totally at ease about it because that’s _not_ how skilled fighters were supposed to be. It was supposed to come naturally to him, and it didn’t, and he resented himself for it.

“You’re not supposed to put all of your energy into one move,” he reasoned, still standing as she’d instructed him to.

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes, “Sage advice, but this isn’t the _one_ move- it just requires more strength than others, and you need to put that in. Look,” she said, dropping her weapons and looking him for permission to correct his form- he nodded at her, and she placed her hands on his shoulders, gently pushing them back until he mirrored what she had been doing. “Okay, I’m going to come at you from your left- see if you can push me back, this way.”

She came at him from his right, which he’d expected her to do- he easily managed to throw her to the ground.

“Told you,” she said, jumping to her feet as soon as she’d recovered. “Now, show me that unbalancing trick you pulled last time.”

“It isn’t a trick- you just overestimate how fast you move.”

“Are you calling me _slow_?”

“No, I’m saying you overestimate how fast you move.”

“Oh,” she grumbled, brow furrowing comically, “He thinks he’s so _funny.”_

He allowed himself a smirk when her back was turned- sometimes, it was just too easy to get on her nerves.

* * *

Iroh received the offer of a thousand lifetimes; he stared at the man who delivered it with a surprised grin.

A better life, handed to him in the form of ownership papers of a teashop in the Upper Ring- could there have been anything more perfect? He eagerly signed for it, discarding his apron and tossing it to Pao, who stared at him mournfully amidst sputtered, half-baked promises of a raise. But nothing, _nothing_ could come close to this- a new apartment and his own teashop, in the greatest, most cultured city in the world! And he would get to name it- he would be able to experiment with new blends, serve a clientele with a finer palate, live in an apartment that didn’t threaten to fall apart with every step he took- there was no sane reaction but to accept the offer graciously.

Iroh relayed this news excitedly to his nephew as he stiffly cleaned up empty tables, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to. Zuko listened without emotion, his inner flame spiking up before it was forcibly quelled, until it was practically undetectable.

He sighed- perhaps he shouldn’t have been so hasty in agreeing, at least not without consulting Zuko. The patron looked at him too, his voice booming through their dingy surroundings: “That’s right, young man- your life is about to change for the better!”

Zuko slammed the tray he was carrying on the table nearest to him, and snarled “I’ll try to contain my _joy_ ” with about as much enthusiasm as Iroh should have expected. He stalked out of the shop, the door swinging shut behind him.

 _Of course,_ Iroh thought hollowly, as realization dawned on him. _I should have thought of that._


	20. Fear and (self)Loathing in Ba Sing Se

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A...lot happens here. This was going to be a much longer chapter, but I'm probably going to take a break from writing to focus on my mids for the next week, so wanted to get something out right now. Let me know what you think! This is going to move REAL fast now that our lead characters kind of know each other, and the story is going to become more plot driven from here on out. Please review, I love to see them!!!

For what felt like an eternity, Zuko stood still and stared at the street in front of him, manually forcing his lungs to breathe in, breathe out.

He shouldn’t have felt as strongly as he did against this new reality- being in the Upper Ring should have held promise and come with a sense of gratitude that he was, if not satisfied, then at least comfortable with his surroundings. He’d have more places to escape to, better things to _do_. Uncle would be happy, as happy as he could possibly be while they were forced to live in the shadows for fear of their own lives. He deserved this much, at least, after what Zuko had put him through.

But he was _angry_. A familiar, almost welcome rage- one that he hadn’t felt in weeks- burst in the center of his chest, and he had to stop himself from punching through the wooden walls of the teashop. 

Before he knew it, he was stalking towards the granary, the rational part of his brain screaming at him to turn around before he caused irreparable damage- what could Zohra even do about this? She’d be furious, she would shut herself off, she would refuse to see him ever again if he bombarded her with this news right now, she would be _upset._

And yet, there was nothing else he could think of doing but staring at her vacantly through the un-shuttered windows of her decrepit workplace and his only place of solace in this city, a streak of grime staining her left cheek- she noticed him soon enough, and held her hand up, indicating that she would be out in a minute. He slinked away from the building, waiting for her to follow.

She caught up with him by the time he allowed himself to take another breath, looking equal parts confused and pleasantly surprised- he realized that he didn’t know how to relay the news to her without flames licking at his fingertips, anxious to release the tension building up in his throat. “Hey, is everything okay? I just told Wuei that I’d probably forgotten something at the teashop to explain why you were here, and-”

“I have to tell you something,” he said hurriedly, the words pouring out quickly to the point of incoherence.

“Slow down,” she said, her mouth still curved upwards in a hesitant smile- it felt like a punch to the gut. “What’s up? I was going to drop by later today, and-“

“Stop,” he rasped out, his hands balling into fists of their own accord. “I…something happened.”

Immediately, her face dropped, brows knitting into a look of concentration. “What? What’s wrong?”

Of course, she would think it was something to do with that awfully incriminating truth both of them were hiding- that was the sane reaction to seeing him so distraught- of _course_ Zohra would be practical beyond all measure.

He had to pause and take several deep breaths before continuing- her expression grew more and more impatient, until she looked ready to snap at him for withholding potentially time-sensitive news. “Uncle… he got an offer to open his own teashop.”

The frown melted off her face. “I hate you,” she grumbled- and although he knew she had completely misinterpreted the whole thing and her words were entirely sarcastic, a moody stab before she followed with a genuine reaction, he couldn’t help but believe her. “I can’t believe you, you really scared me for a minute-“

“It’s in the Upper Ring,” he finished hollowly, and the air around them grew quiet, though he could see the city continue to buzz around them as the day drew to a close. “He just signed for it.”

Her inner flame grew unnaturally high- he felt a strange sense of catharsis at the imminent screech of anger that would follow. But, her expression remained one of calm puzzlement, instead of…whatever Zuko had expected. “That’s…great news, isn’t it?”

_What?_

“What?”

“That’s _good_ ,” she said slowly, stiffly. “Why are you upset?”

He had never wanted to be an earthbender more- at this moment, the ground could have opened up and swallowed him, and he would come out on the other side unscathed to a less confusing world. Suddenly, a wave of resentment built up in his chest, and threatened to pour out- he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his head from exploding

_What the hell is that supposed to mean?_

“Lee,” she said calmly, reminding him where they were- he’d never hated the name more than he did right now. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Do you realize what that would mean?” he gritted out, in a last ditch effort to get her to react the way he’d expected her to- to react the way _he_ was reacting.

“Later,” she intoned knowingly, briskly walking away like _he_ had offended her- he gave himself a minute to stand still and stare after her disappearing form, unsure of where to go from here.

* * *

She waited until she was on the inside of the granary before leaning against the door, biting down on her fist and letting out a muffled scream- a badger-rat scampered past her at the commotion, and she didn’t bother hunting it down. She held herself in that position for a few more seconds, nearly jumping out of her skin at the interruption that followed.

“ _What_ ,” a voice cracked from afar, “was that about?”

It took her a couple of seconds to realize who it was- she brought her palms up to her eyes to check for any signs of incriminating tears, and was hollowly pleased to find them dry. “Nothing- sometimes you just need to scream, you know?”

It was a painfully thin excuse- not even that, really, and she winced as she waited for his reaction. How did she forget he would be here, right now? She had _just_ left him, asked for a five minute break when she noticed Zuko through the un-shuttered window, motioning for her to follow him outside. It had been _less_ than five minutes, for her world to turn upside down once again.

_He’s going to leave._

“Oh, don’t I know about that,” Wuei said airily, gliding closer to her until his face was fully illuminated by the sunlight streaming in through the ventilation gaps. “You sure you’re okay, kid?”

“Yes,” she strained out, stalking away towards the paperwork she had abandoned. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I saw you talking to scar-boy from Pao’s,” he said lowly, and her heart dropped further: was it possible that Wuei was on to her? It wouldn’t take much for him to figure things out- she’d been using the granary that he was in charge of almost every night the past month, she could feel her guard slipping these past few days, and it was entirely possible that he had noticed that something was out of place. “Are you _sure_ -“

“Yes, I’m sure,” she snapped, fear suddenly quelled by a familiar bout of numbness. “I just…forgot to collect my change from the teashop, and he was returning it.”

“He didn’t pocket it as a tip?” Wuei said nonchalantly, shaking his head. “Refugees these days are getting too chivalrous.”

“They sure are,” she said quickly, anxious to get him to stop talking.

“And him returning this change…was cause for you screaming at the top of your lungs?”

”Nope, they’re two completely unrelated events,” she lied, about several things at once.

_He’s going to leave, and I’m going to have to live with it._

“Alright,” Wuei shrugged, still aloof, “Whatever you say.”

She flinched when his back was turned- hadn’t Liah said something, several centuries ago, about Wuei talking to Zuko? It could have been about anything, but her thoughts were spiraling towards the worst possible scenario. She took a deep breath and tried to figure out which way to focus her mind on the gnawing fear that Wuei was on to Zuko, the already dominant fear that he was on to her _,_ or the soul crushing fear that she was being abandoned _again._

Why had she reacted like that? Why had none of _this_ bubbled to the surface when he broke the news to her- she’d cut him off! Like she didn’t even _care_ about him leaving, like she couldn’t be _bothered_ to ask him for details, or selfishly convince him to stay- instead, she’d let him think that it was good news, a lucky break that the only person around whom she felt like _herself_ was going to be torn away from her. Self-loathing seeped through every inch of her being as her hands worked furiously on restocking forms, her head spinning with the sheer amount of things she needed to think about.

But, slowly, the small and undisturbed corner of her brain grew strong enough to bark out coherent instructions for her next steps.

_Get Wuei off my trail- or, at least, make sure he’s not on it._

_Get Wuei off Zuko’s trail._

_Talk to Iroh and figure out what’s really happening, maybe Zuko just doesn’t know the full story; how does someone just get the keys to an Upper Ring piece of property handed to them?_

_Be annoyed at Zuko- why would he drop something like this on me in the middle of the day? Sure, anyone who walks into Pao’s knows that we know each other- but it’s still suspicious to be talking to him in the street like that._

_Apologize to Zuko; he thinks I don’t care, that I want him to leave- but I_ do _want him to leave, because who on earth wants to stay_ here _?_

_Be furious with Zuko._

_...Talk to Zuko._

* * *

He stared at the scrap of rough paper in his hands, reading it over and over to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

_More correspondence to follow- alert the Jasmine Dragon._

He turned it over, put it under the light, almost tore it apart in frustration- what did this _mean?_ Why would anyone send a secret letter…preceding a secret letter?

Wuei could feel a headache coming on, as his brain scrambled to make sense of what he was expected to do. This letter was addressed to him, to _his_ place of work- it carried no seal, nothing tying it to the Order, but he couldn’t imagine it having to do with anything else.

He knew, instinctively, who the Jasmine Dragon was referring to- it _had_ to be the only other member of the Order he knew in the Lower Ring.

A twinge of suspicion lodged itself in the bottom of his stomach- what were the odds that he received this letter after nearly a month of total silence, the same day Zohra revealed the she knew the nephew of a member of the Order? There was no logic, no evidence to back up his mistrust- it was possible that those two events were entirely unconnected.

…But, he hadn’t seen her talk to anyone during work, except Liah. And why did the kid know _where_ she worked, anyway? It’s possible they were friends, but he couldn’t imagine her ever getting along with him. The only time he’d talked to scar-boy (what a vile nickname that was, but Wuei couldn’t be bothered to correct himself) was when he had refused, ostentatiously, to even say a word regarding the war outside the city’s walls. Zohra, based on her low tolerance for insincerity, would hate someone as self-important as that- yet, she’d practically run out to meet him, under the guise of reclaiming forgotten change.

As _if_ she could afford to forget change- he knew how much she made, and how much that apartment must have cost her. It didn’t add up, that she trusted him enough to return the money to her at all; she had to be lying about the forgotten change bit, but she clearly had other business with him.

No, he was spiraling- he was tired, and hungry, and this unneeded burden of a letter was weighing on his chest and making him invent ridiculous theories. He didn’t know Zohra that well- she just worked for him. Maybe she could be friends with a kid as shady as he was- girls seemed to like brooding, battle worn type. In fact, hadn’t he seen him on a date with the seamstress’s daughter- Jin, or whatever her name was? Maybe that’s how Zohra knew him, through pure neighborhood happenstance- he wasn’t helping anyone by needlessly worrying over her.

In any case, he would have to warn the teamaker of what was coming- from the sheer lunacy of sending a warning letter through the regular mail, Wuei was convinced that whatever information followed could not have been good.

_What the hell is going on?_

* * *

Iroh’s breath caught in his throat when he recognized the handwriting on the small, rough scrap of paper.

_More correspondence to follow- alert the Jasmine Dragon._

Only a handful of members of the Order knew that to be his alias- and, based on the sharp, decisive strokes on the paper, it could only have come from a particular mansion in the Fire Nation.

He hadn’t heard from Piandao in years. Since Zuko’s banishment, he bluntly announced that he preferred to stay out of the limelight, to withdraw from his duties for the Order before Ozai caught on. He’d had several private eyes trained on him from the day he had started training Zuko, before either of them had even been indoctrinated into the White Lotus- Iroh had agreed that it was too risky for him to do much without jeopardizing his own safety and that of the Order. For him to involve himself now, to write to two professed enemies of the Fire Nation…he must have a good reason.

And this letter, this warning- it was delivered to that new recruit, the bespectacled boy who had inherited his father’s position within the Order, who had taken an oath to keep the society alive in the Lower Ring. Iroh trusted him, as he was obliged to trust all members, regardless of their station; but, something about the timing of this letter set him on edge. They had just gotten news of ascension to the Upper Ring- in the past hour, Iroh had already managed to run a thorough background check on their new patron; his assets and his loyalties were clean as a whistle. Like most successful Ba Sing Se merchants, he had to be a little crooked, but he had no ties to the Dai Li or any trips beyond the walls- he had no way of discerning their true identities. Iroh was convinced that his offer was purely a profitable business move, and he intended to treat it as such.

And, as he exited Pao’s for the last time, this letter was discreetly shoved into his hands- what on earth was Piandao thinking? It didn’t make sense for him to send something this dangerous without appropriate protection of their secret correspondence methods. Except, of course, that the regular mail was at least three times as fast as whatever mechanisms the White Lotus employed to keep members connected across the world. And if he sent a warning, before the slower, more revealing documents found their way towards Iroh…what would he have to say about Zohra?

Iroh brought his hand up to his head, trying to calm his mind- he had a duty to this girl. If Piandao had painstakingly risked his cover to reveal to Iroh that he _did_ have something that could help her, then Iroh could not leave her here alone, cut off from the Fire Nation again, the way she had been her whole life.

He would have to tread carefully, from here- Zohra had still shown no signs of wanting to leave the city, and he understood her hesitation well enough. Showing her this infuriatingly vague letter from her father’s friend would only give her cause for grief and resentment- he would have to keep it secret, until the whole truth had been disclosed.

Keeping it secret from her meant keeping it secret from Zuko- he knew he was already on dangerously thin ice with his nephew, who had completely shut him off after Iroh had accepted the offer to leave for the Upper Ring. He should have anticipated that, but he knew there was no other route to be taken- they couldn’t keep living here. The Lower Ring was too uncomfortable, and more importantly, overcrowded, with too many new refugees pouring in- they couldn’t afford to be accused of being firebenders again, not after they had already aroused suspicion in that boy who had been abducted by the Dai Li for his reckless honesty. Zuko was blinded by the sheer injustice of it all- Iroh had to look out for both of them, even if it came at the expense of his nephew’s newfound sense of purpose. 

He closed his eyes tiredly, drawing in a deep breath- he needed more time to think this through. 


	21. A Way Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day, I wish I could have timed this story so I could publish something cute today but instead we deal with two dumb teenagers. We are SPICING up this storyline and about to reach the climax of book 2- the next one is going to be unbelievably fun, i promise. In the mean time, here's some brooding from Zuko and panic from Zohra. Please review, I love to see them.

_I never want to see her again._

He kept repeating that thought, manifesting it into objectiveness, trying to convince himself as he and Uncle hesitantly began to pack up their sparse belongings- they were expected in the Upper Ring within the next three days. He was forced to abandon his mantra when Uncle sat him down and forced him to talk, for hours, about what their next move should be.

A lot of drivel about the dangers they faced in the Lower Ring, the problems they were sure to face in the next few months if they chose to stay. He couldn’t bring himself to admit it to Uncle, but he also didn’t want to leave the Lower Ring because it never felt _permanent._ The squalor and depression of what his life had become here was so strangely exaggerated that it felt almost unreal- he reasoned, in the back of his mind, that as long as they were here, there was some hope of escape, some hope of redemption and return to the Fire Nation. Going to the Upper Ring meant giving up on the temporary inconvenience that the Lower Ring promised by being the bottommost rung on the ladder- going to the Upper Ring meant they were here forever. He did not want to envision that future- he wasn't sure he could handle _knowing_ that they were stuck here for the rest of their lives.

When Uncle asked him directly about Zohra and what her reaction had been (how had he even known Zuko had already talked to her, already been brushed off?), Zuko gave him a non-committal scowl, which Uncle immediately waved away. He tried to say those words out loud: _I never want to see her again_ , but he wasn’t having any of it- he had a suggestion so outlandish, so contrary to his usual calm practicality that Zuko couldn’t help but turn away in frustration.

_She could, of course, come with us- it wouldn’t be difficult to arrange. In fact, I believe I could have a visa ready for her by tomorrow; our patron is very generous with his influence in the bureaucracy._

He already knew what Zohra would have to say about it- the prospect of facing yet another affronted refusal was not enticing in the least.

She was clearly unaffected by this turn of events- he decided not to meet her at the granary, even though he knew she would be waiting for him and for a more thorough explanation. With nothing else to do for the whole night but lie in bed and stare at the ceiling and his muscles tensed in anticipation of a sparring match that he refused to give into, he was forced to confront why he even cared about her.

She’d made it clear, from the start that their arrangement was purely for _practice._ They were both skilled swordsman with near identical training, who would get rusty the longer they spent without their weapons- it was a matter of pure convenience, a lucky coincidence that both also happened to be undercover in the city for the same affliction. So, they’d managed to exchange a few conversations in the middle- that didn’t mean anything, and he shouldn’t have forgotten about it momentarily, shouldn’t have rushed to her for camaraderie when his life was being uprooted yet again. Her insistence on them developing that trust in the first place was purely for practical reasons- he had assumed her motives once before, and it had ended badly, and he would be stupid to do it again.

Uncle offered to talk to her for him- Zuko tried to refuse, but a part of him wanted to have the satisfaction of being right, of supposing her reaction correctly, for once. He let himself be surprised by her too often- it was almost ridiculous, how little he could anticipate Zohra’s feelings or insights on just about anything, when she was able to read him correctly every time. He wanted her to firmly say no to Uncle, as loudly as she could within her self-inflicted bounds of politeness, and he wanted to be able to be _right._

As the next day dawned, Zuko wordlessly slipped out and walked briskly until he lost track of where he was amidst the winding, crowded alleyways of the Lower Ring. He needed some kind of distraction, and he didn’t want to be around when Uncle found her and gave her the kind of news any other refugee in this place would kill for.

_I never want to see her again._

* * *

He didn’t show up at the granary that night- she felt a lump swell in her throat until she came close to screaming out in frustration. She trudged back home, narrowly avoiding a patrolling Dai Li agent- an irrational, self-destructive part of her almost wanted to be found sneaking in the alleys past curfew, with a suspicious pair of Dao strapped to her back; fear and adrenaline would be an almost welcome distraction from hollow anxiety.

The next day, she was confronted by a different Fire Nation royal- this time in the market where she distractedly spent far too much money on poor produce. She didn’t have the strength to say no to his offer of a quick, roadside lunch, or to think too hard about how he possibly could have known she would be here.

Iroh, to his credit, took some time making pleasantries before getting to what he really wanted to say- Zuko was nowhere to be seen, and she was both anxious and hollowly pleased about it, but decided to get it out of the way: “He’s not with you?”

He shook his head, expression totally impassive. “I understand that you two are…not on the best of terms right now.”

She frowned guiltily, biting back an affronted explanation. “I suppose.”

“I am also sure that my nephew…did not made it easier for you to make amends.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“I’m not here to defend him, or to apologize,” he said sternly, and she almost shrank back in surprise. “I do, however, have a proposition for you.”

She felt her brows knit in confusion. “A proposition?”

He spoke calmly, like he had prepared the speech beforehand: “I don’t want to be too presumptuous, but I think I know of the challenges you face here- the city is isolating enough as it is, without the burden you carry. You know that it is dangerous for you to be _yourself_ here- that takes its own toll, especially on one so young.”

She couldn’t bring herself to nod, even though he wasn’t exactly wrong. He continued, undeterred: “An elegant solution to, at least some of, your problems would be if you didn’t feel trapped here.”

Several seconds passed as he waited for her to understand what he was getting at- panic flooded her chest as soon as she did. Seeing the flash of realization on her face, he leaned back in his chair, waiting for her reaction.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, trying to keep her tone even. ”But I don’t think-“

“I have something for you,” he interrupted, as if he didn’t want to give her time to develop that refusal. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a delicate green scroll with gold lettering- she felt her face drain of color in disbelief. “This document holds visas for total movement within the city, to both the Middle and Upper rings. You can use it whenever you want, to go wherever you want.” He paused, taking in her baffled expression. “You are under no obligation to use it at all, if you so choose.”

“I can’t accept this,” she whispered, her throat completely parched. “Thank you, and I’m sorry you went through the trouble, but-“

“It was no trouble,” he said coolly. “And it is perfectly legal- I simply listed you as one of my employees and the patron arranged for it, no questions asked.”

“You’re…asking me to work for you?”

He smiled at her, warmer than the late spring air- she felt some of the tension in her shoulders dissolve, but her breathing was still constricted; this was too much information to take in. “In a place like this, sometimes you have to bend the rules. This is a token of appreciation for a new friend.” He paused, waiting for her to interrupt him again- she held back, heart still thudding away against her ribcage. “I don’t want to force you into anything, Zohra, but you have options, now- choices that you _deserve_.”

“This is too much,” she whispered, doing her best to refuse as gently as possible- she didn’t want to let herself think of the consequences of something like this.

“It’s done,” he said flatly, though not unkindly. “It’s yours already- you can choose to come with us and work for me, or you can go wherever else you want. I believe this much is due- from one _refugee_ to another.”

She caught that peculiar inflection for what it really meant _-_ it was the same sentiment that had pushed Zuko to try to get her out of here and to the Fire Nation, before he even knew her. It was the quiet, honorable, _stupid_ dedication they shared to their countrymen, to their subjects- a gnawing vestige of their past oath to the throne, probably. Zohra didn’t believe herself to qualify for any of it- she wasn’t a citizen of the Fire Nation, and she didn’t deserve the kind of help Zuko and Iroh threw at her without a second thought. She could barely understand what having a visa like this would even entail- she was pretty much resigned to spending the rest of her life in the Lower Ring, at least until the war waged on. That involved not being able to leave for greener pastures- she had made her peace with it within a week of arriving.

“Does Zuko know?”

Iroh looked at her impassively, a long-suffering smile at the corners of his mouth. “He’s certain you won’t accept; something about past experience. He’s not opposed to it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Is that right?” she said wearily, shifting her gaze, entirely unconvinced.

“My nephew is hot-headed, and too stubborn for his own good- but he is, ultimately, predictable. He will be pleased if you decide to join us- I am sure of it.” He paused, lacing his fingers together and leaning towards her, the lines in his face prominent and authoritative. “But, I implore you to think of yourself, Zohra- you have made it perfectly clear that you don’t need to be taken care of. You don’t need to come with us, if you don’t want to- but you should understand how important it is to have a way out of here.” He pushed his empty plate of dumplings away, and waved to a server to bring him another round- her own food was almost untouched, her stomach refusing to let her keep more than a few bites down.

She opened her mouth to explain why she couldn’t possibly accept, but was distracted by a thought that had been silently plaguing her since last night: what if the Avatar was still in the Upper Ring? Zuko seemed to have given up on that quest based on several weeks of restrained confessions, but she couldn’t be sure, especially not now as he was headed right towards his evasive prize. Something about the timing of the whole thing set her on edge, although she had no evidence to back up her suspicion. A part of her was almost convinced that this charade of getting _legal_ documents, of manually processing paperwork that General Iroh should have been able to manage through the favors of his secret network of _friends_ in the Earth Kingdom was some kind of trick on its own- she shook off this speculation quickly, trying to focus on what she knew to be true instead of what could have been.

She understood how crazy both possible outcomes were- it was not rational, not _practical_ to stay in the Lower Ring when she had a foolproof method of leaving it and finding a better, less degrading existence elsewhere. There was nothing more she could accomplish, here- the job she had miraculously landed was the best one she could ever hope for, and she had always known she couldn’t achieve stability or normalcy. There was too much animosity towards refugees from the citizens, and she couldn’t bring herself to trust anyone at the risk of exposing what she really was- she was doomed to isolation here, no matter what.

Taking up the General on his offer would solve that problem. Luxuries and comforts of the Upper Ring be damned, she was tired of running away from herself, from what she was- without Dad, she wasn’t sure she could keep it up much longer. Zuko was, at least partially, to blame for this _-_ she hadn’t realized it until last night, but she had grown used to having a sparring partner that could keep up with her, a reluctant confidant who couldn’t possibly turn against her. Following the two former princes had one concrete, nagging benefit over anything else- she wouldn’t be alone.

It also teetered on the edge of insanity. She couldn’t bring herself to depend on them like that, couldn’t pretend to forget the debt that would loom over her for the rest of her life if she accepted. She also couldn’t trust them completely, no matter how much she wanted to- they had their own motives, their own lives and responsibilities that she was still in the dark about. She knew from the look in Zuko’s eyes when he talked about the Fire Nation that he planned on returning, even if he didn’t know it himself- if it came to that, she didn’t want to be around for it.

Iroh watched her silently weigh these options, her gaze fixed on the empty plates between them. He handed the scroll to her and she accepted listlessly, mouth still open in an unending gape. He dropped enough coins to cover the bill and a generous tip for their eager server, and drifted away into the crowds before Zohra could thank him, or ask for reassurance.


	22. Bitter tea, long goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Zuko-only chapter because I'm going through some strange writers' block situation- i was going to show the goodbye from both their POVs but I actually think this one works better. Short, but that's because this is officially the last chapter with Zuko and Iroh in the Lower Ring!!! Please review, I love to see them, and thank you so much if you're still around for this story!!

Uncle informed him that they would depart on the evening train, and promptly left before Zuko could ask him where he was off to, mere hours before their departure- but, he didn’t have any reason to protest. He stayed in the apartment, staring dejectedly at his surroundings stripped of most of its touches of personalization, waiting to be occupied by another desperate family of refugees.

He heard a knock at the door some hours later and opened it unthinkingly. Zohra stood at the threshold, in fresh green robes instead of her usual work tunic- he stared at her for a few seconds, remembering the vow of indifference he had taken. “What are you doing here?”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I just…wanted to say goodbye.”

_Right._

“Oh.” He nodded to let her in, a strange burst of emotion making his stomach turn dangerously.

“Where’s your uncle?”

 _Why did she bother?_ “I don’t know.”

She read the annoyance in his tone and held his gaze defiantly, her eyes dark and softly narrowed. “Zuko…I’m not going to let you take this out on me.”

He wasn’t going to fall for this, for her insistence on maintaining a moral high ground- if she had really come to say goodbye, he’d rather it end as fast as it could. “Okay.”

She blinked at him, surprised. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I was…sort of expecting you to argue with me on that.”

He felt his brows knit in frustration. “What’s the point?”

“You’re right- there isn’t.” She looked like she wanted to add something to that thought, but closed her mouth slowly, settling for a dissatisfied frown. “I did want to meet your Uncle, though.”

“You can wait here- he should be back soon.”

“Okay.”

An eerie silence settled between them- he usually looked to Zohra to break one of those, but she seemed determined to keep this whole thing as awkward as it could possibly be. He glanced around for something to say, his eyes eventually settling on the stove, a kettle already filled and set upon it.

“Do you…want something?”

She noticed him looking at their tea making supplies, and jerked her shoulders upwards in an awkward shrug. “Sure.”

He got up, a little too quickly, and started mirroring what he’d seen Uncle do a thousand times before. The gushing of the stove and gentle roar of the flame filled his ears, providing a brief respite from what had to be one of the most uncomfortable encounters he had had with Zohra, even including their first meeting when she had ambushed him.

“I can make it,” she offered from a short distance away, still seated cross legged on the threadbare rug.

“No, it’s done,” he said, quickly increasing the heat of the flame with his bending for a brief moment before quickly pouring the water into the tea pot and sprinkling what, to him, seemed the appropriate amount of tea leaves for two people.

“Thanks,” she said, as he unceremoniously handed her the un-chipped cup. She took a quick sip, her mouth twisting into a grimace as she did- she quickly placed the cup on the bare floor next to her, as if it would detonate. He felt a twinge of annoyance at her implicit rejection.

“What?” he said defensively, taking a long sip. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Is this…is this how you _like_ it?”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“Do you actually believe that?” she said incredulously, her voice quivering from a barely-held back nervous laugh.

“It’s not _bad_ ,” he argued, taking another long sip to demonstrate his point- it tasted exactly like how almost-expired ginseng tea was supposed to taste.

She shook her head, eyes crinkling in a smile- he felt some of the tension roll off his shoulders at the sight. “This is _burnt-_ haven’t you been working at a teashop for the past month?”

“I wasn’t making the tea.”

“Okay, how have you lived with your uncle this long?”

He felt a flush rise to his face. “Shut up.”

She bit her lip to hold back a laugh again, and looked away, her gaze settling on the window overlooking the rest of the apartment complex. She slowly shifted towards it without getting up, both hands clasped around the cup of tea. “You have a great view from here,” she offered- a welcome change of subject, even if he didn’t agree with her on the observation.

He couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not. “You can’t see anything- it’s just the courtyard.” If one could call it that- it was small and always smelled vaguely of rotten fruit, which didn’t seem to bother most residents of the complex because they still turned up here, at all hours of the day, for some relative privacy from the rest of the Lower Ring.

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” she said, resting her chin on the rough windowsill. “This is the _only_ good thing about living here.”

“What?”

“Look,” she said, motioning for him to come over. He sat as far away from her as he possibly could, drawing his knees up to his chest, hesitantly peeking out of the window- it looked the same to him, drab and crowded as usual. He tried to follow her gaze- it was trained on a group of children tossing a ball between them, expertly evading a white cat-owl as it tried to pounce upon it. He couldn’t really understand why she seemed captivated by something as mundane as this. She stared at them intently, her cup of subpar tea slowly growing cold, her eyes almost glazed over even as they followed the ball bouncing around the dusty courtyard, her shoulders slouched and relaxed. “It’s just…nice to look at other people, sometimes.”

He kept quiet, sensing that she was going to explain further.

“They’ve all got their own lives,” she mused, the tension between them slowly dissipating- he sighed in relief, let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “It’s a distraction, I suppose. When I got here, this was one of the few things that kept me sane- I just used to watch people from my window for hours at a time.”

She looked to him for a response- he desperately kept his gaze fixed on the scene outside the window to stop himself from saying that, once again, he didn’t understand where she was coming from or what she was trying to get to. She nestled in closely to the wall, her leather-clad feet swishing against the concrete floor. “You know,” she said suddenly, her voice steady, “that’s how I saw you, too.”

Those first few days, when the simultaneous bustle and loneliness of the city weighed on his chest like a ton of bricks, when he would recklessly scout through the rooftops of the Lower Ring, masked and coiled up in nervous energy he didn’t know what to do with. “Right,” he said sheepishly.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said clearly, her gaze still fixed away from him, “for everything. The visa, the sparring matches… everything.” She paused, turning her head to look at him and his lack of a suitable response to that confession- his throat seemed to have closed up. She smiled weakly, hair escaping its hastily tied knot and falling in her face, and being blown away in return. “I’ll figure something out,” she said softly, resting her chin on her knees. “You don’t have to- you shouldn’t worry about me.”

 _Why can’t you come with us? It just makes_ sense; _why is it so hard to believe that we’d all be safer if we were together?_

“I won’t,” he said instead, hand itching to reach up and smack is forehead in frustration.

“Always the charmer,” she muttered, a smile still stuck on the corners of her mouth.

They settled into a silence as the sun slowly inched towards the horizon, a steady breeze keeping the air from becoming stale. Zohra tapped her fingers softly along the windowsill in a faltering beat- “Did you at least have fun, these past few weeks?”

He didn’t have to think about it for too long- maybe _fun_ wasn’t the right word, but having someone to spar with- and talk to- without fear of repercussions, or disdain, or rejection wasn’t entirely unpleasant. In fact, isn’t that why he was upset with her aloofness in the first place, when he had told her they were going to be separated by two sets of walls? That he would no longer have a familiar place- or person- to turn to after hours of servants’ work; after the kind of daytime existence he could never have prepared himself for; after a day of hiding who he was when it was the ultimate badge of dishonor to do so. He had spent the past three years being forced to bottle up his resentment at how his life had turned out and direct it towards himself, and Zohra was the only person who had listened to snatches of his frustrations and self-pity without contempt- she expected so little of him, in absolute terms, that he’d caught himself _smiling,_ several times, when he was around her. Even stranger was how she seemed to smile- and laugh, actually _laugh,_ around him too; he hadn’t realized, until this moment, how easy it was to be with her despite their vicious start.

No, _fun_ wasn’t exactly the right word- but it would have to do, for now. “Yeah- I did.”

This seemed to be good enough for her- she bracingly downed the rest of her cold tea, making no attempts to hide her grimace at its bitterness. When Uncle slipped in some peaceful moments later, he didn’t look too surprised to see her there. Zohra quickly got up and walked towards him briskly, her posture stiff again. She bowed to him deeply- Earth Kingdom style- and delivered a clearly practiced speech, thanking him for his kindness and generosity. Uncle let her finish, nodded approvingly before clasping her hands between his and wishing her well.

Zuko observed the whole charade with his jaw clenched tight- Zohra approached him and held his gaze, a hesitant smile plastered over her face even as her eyes remained somewhat distant. “Good luck,” she said, extending a hand out for him to shake- he stared at it, dumbfounded, for a couple of seconds before hesitantly taking it, noticing how rough and cold her long fingers were. She opened her mouth to add something, but shook her head instead and headed towards the door, her pale green robes swishing behind her. He was left standing in the middle of the room staring after her, feeling Uncle’s eyes bore into the back of his head, his heart sinking further than he thought possible.


End file.
